The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground
by Kim Hoppy
Summary: ... With Startling Regularity - If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it. Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.
1. Prologue

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**A/N:** ::headdesk:: This was honestly supposed to be a little, like, 10-page ditty at the most. Something to whip out on the weekend, and now a month later, and quite a few pages more, it's finished. It turned a little more plot-y than I intended, too, and perhaps more focused on the brotherly-relationship between Phil and Tony. Well, I tried, and it's finished.

Rated for some inappropriate language a teenager might say.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_Sometimes the Best Place to Start is at the End, Just So You Know What's Coming and That the Avengers Always Win. Even Though, Really, That's a Given_

Fixing the sunglasses, Phil radiated _authority_ and _you will listen to me_ at the group of costumed superheroes in front of him. There was always hope that the suit might give him a little bit of a super power in herding this mess of cats, though experience told him it was unlikely. Still, he could at least hope today would be different, because this was going to turn into a nightmare of epic proportions otherwise, and he'd be the one having to clean it up.

"All right, is everyone ready?"

There was nodding and a lot of looks that said, _we were born ready_. He still checked with his eyes to make sure everyone had what they needed – hammer, shield, staff, bow and arrows, gun, bags and/or buckets – and was pleased to note so far it was good. There had already been drama when _someone_ had misplaced _someone's _weapon.

Then his eyes caught movement. "Do _not_ hit your brother with that hammer or I swear I will take it away!" he warned, and Thor pouted a little while Loki smirked. "And don't think I haven't see _you_ poking and chasing people with that staff. The same goes for you."

"Phil! Come on!" Iron Man whined.

Phil ignored him out of practice. "Bathroom?" Because always ask. No one volunteered and he grinned. "All right, I guess we can roll out."

"That's _Transformers_!" Hawkeye protested, grinning like an idiot.

"You gotta say, _Avengers Assemble_, like this: _**Avengers Assemble**_!" Iron Man demonstrated at the top of his lungs.

"Technically, Captain America says that, because he's the leader," Phil said dryly. Captain America smirked.

"Well, it's okay, we can say it too, he'll totally let us, and because really, we're in charge, aren't we, so we get to say it because we're the ones who every listens to," Iron Man said.

Phil looked down his sunglasses. "No. You just think you are. I'm in charge."

"Then you gotta say it."

He sighed. It was going to be a long day, and all Phil had to say was they'd better get a good haul of candy.


	2. Iron Man

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_Everything Started With Iron Man_

Phil wasn't a geek. Well, not a big one, no more than the average teenager. He might have a few couple dozen binders of trading cards (baseball, Pokémon, he wasn't very picky, but he was very organized and obsessive about getting as many as he could when he was younger) and there's maybe a two or three or a half a dozen D&D books lying around, and a couple collections of comics from various companies, and a few signed pictures from various conventions he begged random related adults to take him to but he'd deny going to if one of his friends asked, and a few more toys that were marketed to his little brother's age group and Phil bought claiming he was buying for Tony but Tony's not allowed to touch them _ever_, and there were a few discussion boards and Tumblr sites he had bookmarked and checked daily, and what was average anyway?

So, he wasn't a geek, he just … happened to like things that got people labeled as a geek. And besides, being excited for the new _Avengers_ movie coming out wasn't geeky, because _everyone _was. It was like being excited when the X-Men movies came out, or the Transformers ones, or the Matrix, or Star Trek, or the LOTR, or the next Batman, or, hell, even the next Pixar film. (Whether or not disappointment followed those releases didn't matter.) Phil really was just swept up in public hysteria.

Therefore, Phil felt no embarrassment being excited for the new film coming out at the start of May. Everyone was talking about it at school. His entire lunch table was making plans to go to the midnight showing together, and it needed timing, because there were going to be _lines_ and crowds and the possibility of everything being sold out.

And Phil had _plans_ to prepare for seeing the Avengers on the Big Screen. (The 3D decision was pending, because was it really necessary? He saw Avatar in 3D, and for him, it had been the only redeeming feature. Phil had thought Jake was a complete _idiot_, because, hello, even _Phil_ knew how to take down a helicopter and deal with people who couldn't breathe the air of the planet without dying, and how not to attack someone with gun when you just had bows and arrows, especially not in a frontal attack when it wasn't even a diversion you were just being completely _stupid_. [He said it was the best movie ever all three times he saw it with his friends, but that's not the point. He did write some very scathing and pointed reviews online.])

His plans included watching the five prequel films in preparation in a huge-ass marathon the weekend before. Because he was boss at preparation.

Unfortunately, his plans were thwarted, once again, by the Pain in the Ass, aka Tony, aka his little brother.

Tony had been, quite literally, an accident on his parents' part. It was a brotherly trait they had in common, because so had Phil. He'd gotten enough of the story from his various aunts and uncles who didn't realize Little League pitchers really did have big ears to figure out he existed because of a drunken (possible but more likely the one time they forgot the condom) one night stand, and they married because neither of his parents were shotgun-proof. They _stayed_ married because divorce meant going to hell, which was ridiculous because by living together they were already in hell. When Phil was younger, they had _tried_, but now it was easier to simply avoid each other … except for the one night that resulted in Tony.

When Tony was prophesized to come, the yelling started whenever the two adult had to meet. (There had been something about moving, about lost careers, about figures, about money, about things his ten-year-old mind hadn't understood.) Phil remembered resenting Tony for that, how his cold and quiet family had turned into a cold and loud one, and migrated into a more absent one. More hours at work, more whatevers, until it was common Phil could, if he really wanted (and lately he usually did) to go an entire month without seeing either of his parents more than three times. (Tony saw them at least every day, but Phil had a _life_ and didn't have to sit at home and wait for them to be around.) He sometimes wondered how long it'd take him to realize it if they died, or vice versa.

So he got stuck with watching Tony. It was no big deal, really, except then it was because, he had a life. _And _he had _plans_ that involved the giant ass TV in the living room. He was not watching _Phineas and Ferb_ or _Penguins of Madagascar_ or _Thundercats_ or whatever because he was watching _his movies all weekend_, maybe several times so he made sure not to miss anything.

And it was _so not fair_ that his parents picked up their phones when Tony called but not when he did, and it was even more unfair when they took the brat's side.

Sure, Phil could have ignored the terse order from the phone, because, hell, they weren't here, and the smug little brat needed that smug smile off his face. Which did come off when he caught Phil's expression as the phone snapped shut, because Tony took off screaming with Phil hot on his heels, and the older brother caught him at the stairs.

"Mommy said! You gotta! Let me go, let me go!" Tony screeched, twisting in his arms as he was lifted off the ground.

"You whiny little tattle-tail," Phil seethed. "I'm going to drop you off the side of the house!"

"I'll tell!"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Thank you for proving my point." He dropped him, ignoring the whine, and rubbed his face. It was pointless to get angry with Tony, because he got and did whatever the hell he wanted anyway, and if Phil got parental contact, he preferred it when it actually mattered. "Fine, go watch your stupid cartoons. I'll be in my room." He'd just have to watch the DVDs on his laptop and – a glance at Tony – the headphones on.

"But we _always_ watch cartoons together," Tony said as Phil stepped over him to get upstairs, and followed. "Phil!"

"Go away, I'm busy."

"No, you're not," Tony said as he crawled up onto Phil's made bed.

"Get out of my room." The words were more habit than actual order, though the following "Don't TOUCH that!" and subsequent removal of said object from Tony's hands was much more vehement. "How many times do I have to tell you, don't touch my cards!"

"I didn't touch them! I just want to look. They're shiny and they change and stuff." Tony tried to get the binder, but Phil held it higher and then put it on a shelf.

"Just shut up, go down stairs, and watch TV," he ordered as he turned on his laptop.

Tony bounced down to sit on the bed. "Are you going to watch porn?"

Phil still had no idea where Tony learned that word, nor why he always asked if that was what Phil was going to do. (The first time he had asked, Phil had sputtered and turned bright red and Tony had collapsed onto the couch in a fit of giggles. Never mind if that was what Phil had been going to do or not.) "Yes, I am. Now go away."

"I want to watch too!"

Yes, and then go to school and tell all your teachers your big brother let you watch porn this weekend, that'll go over well. "You wanted to watch cartoons, so tough."

"Phil!"

He ended up having to brat-handle Tony out into the hallway and getting the door closed before the little monster could turn, and then blocking the door closed with the little wedge he used for just these times.

Unfortunately, it was possible for Tony to be louder than headphones set on maximum.

"Do you want me to kill you?" Phil snapped, opening the door to look at the monster who had been kicking and screaming at his door for the past fifteen minutes.

Tony sniffed. "We _always_ watch cartoons together."

"You're just not going to shut up, are you?" he hissed.

"Nope!" And now the little bastard was grinning. "Please, Phil. Cartoons!"

"I hate you."

So Phil's plan was thwarted, and he spent Saturday morning glaring at the giant-ass screen downstairs watching what was not on the plan while Tony pushed remote buttons because only _he_ knew what he wanted to watch and could watch it whenever he wanted wherever he wanted to.

Life was so not fair.

Okay, to be fair, Phil did like that Green Lantern cartoon and the Young Justice episode, but he still was pretty pissed off.

Tony caught it, though he only spoke it after their traditional cartoon run was over. He turned the remote over in his hands and kneeled on the couch. "… We can watch your porn now, if you want."

"It's not porn, and you have to stop telling people I watch porn, Tony."

"But everyone looks so funny!"

This from the boy who thought the penis game was hilarious (and won every single time) – thank you, Mark, for teaching him that, no, seriously, this was why Phil couldn't go to the mall without Tony starting the game even if it was by himself – though, ever since Phil had had to (embarrassingly) explain the difference between girls and boys, Tony sometimes yelled out "vagina" just be more obnoxious.

Phil remained slouching and didn't respond, still a little miffed and willing to remain so for at least a few more hours before ultimately forgiving the brat, despite the eyes and the look. Tony crawled off the couch and ran off, and Phil took the time to get up and start lunch. He made grilled cheese with tuna, and cut them into triangles and then the crust off of Tony's.

Tony came slinking and ate his sandwich while he watched Phil cut a few apples into eighths. Phil threatened to remove his fingers if he kept trying to grab a piece.

When lunch was finished, Tony was off like a shot and yelled at him to come back to the living room, and he took his time cleaning up the mess.

"Phil!"

The last dish put away, Phil went back to the living room, prepared for whatever game Tony would demand. He couldn't wait until he was in college and his life could be his own.

He was caught by surprise to see the Iron Man DVD menu on the screen. "See, we can watch this now. I didn't know Iron Man was porn," Tony said, standing on the couch.

"You know who Iron Man is?"

Tony made a face. "Duh! Everyone knows who Iron Man is. Him! I wanna watch, too! I like Iron Man."

Phil was trying to remember if Iron Man was appropriate for his bratty-but-sometimes-okay little brother, but, since _he_ wanted to watch it too, he didn't try to grade it very hard. "Fine. Since you want to." He dropped down onto the couch and waved a hand at the screen, and Tony pushed the button and scrabbled up to sit next to him.

It didn't take Tony long to notice a similarity. "His name's Tony too!"

"Yes. Tony Stark. Be quiet."

"Is he Iron Man?"

"I thought you knew who Iron Man was."

"I do! I just didn't know _he_ was Iron Man. Why isn't he wearing the red and yellow costume? I thought he could fly!"

Phil prayed for patience and tried to answer Tony's questions, and then waylay fears and worries for the character. He had to hide his smile at the way Tony got into the film, because, of course, even though it had been out for, what, five years or something, this was really the first time Tony was seeing it.

"That was totally cool!" Tony yelled, jumping up on the couch.

"Very."

"Phil, I can be Iron Man, can't I?"

"Yeah, sure." He barely caught the idiot. "No flying in the house."

"You're no fun." He shook off the hand. "I'm Tony Stark."

"Now there's someone to aspire to."

Tony grinned, oblivious to the sarcasm.

They watched The Hulk next, the Edward Norton one, because the other one didn't count. Tony fell asleep midway through it.

It was around the end of the movie, removing the drooling barnacle that was his brother, that Phil realized a slight … not _flaw_, per se, but complication. Five movies … that was almost ten hours. Watching movies always made him tired, because for some reason just vegging was _exhausting_.

Well, he didn't _have_ to watch them all today. The brat already ruined that anyway.

So … he'd just watch the other three tomorrow. Or something. The important thing was to watch them all before Thursday, especially if he was going to the midnight showing.

Tony woke up from his not-nap and wanted to go outside, so they went to the park and Tony almost killed himself pretending to be Iron Man, and Phil had to carry him home when Iron Man skinned his knee and banged his head failing to jump over a bench and absolutely could not walk.

The brat was remarkably mobile when Phil said he smelled like he needed a bath. He mobiled himself into jumping into the pool, clothes and all, and stayed in there until Phil dragged him out to get cleaned up for supper. Then it was food and bedtime, and Phil smirked as Tony begged for an Iron Man story. He hemmed and hawed a bit before recounting a story from one of the comics he had.

Sunday morning had Phil up early for his paper route, because he needed a job, but he needed one that didn't involve after school hours because of his brother. Allegedly, his parents were there to watch Tony in the morning, but he'd never rely on them after that, and Tony, quite frankly, had terrified most of the local babysitters. It wasn't _that_ big of a deal, Phil's friends just came over to his house. And if there was something he had to do that he _couldn't_ take Tony along with, their neighbor Mrs. Valient would watch him if their parents couldn't. (It was easier to just ask Mrs. Valient.) She thought Tony was a scamp, and still liked to bring up the numerous times Phil ran down the street in his birthday suit. (It was just a phase.) Phil was convinced Tony only liked her because she told him those kinds of stories that made Phil's ears turn red.

He caught his father leaving on the way back, and they traded nods like a baton in a footrace. (He had seen his mother off to join her church choir before he left to deliver the papers.) (They stopped going to church as a family long before Tony, and only went on the days everyone else went, like Easter and Christmas.) Inside, Tony was still in his pajamas, eating cereal, and Phil ruffled his hair to the younger's scowl.

"You wanna watch _Iron Man 2_ today?"

Tony's face brightened. "Yeah! Can we watch it now?"

"Finish your cereal."

They managed to get through the last three, for a given value of _Captain America_ for Tony, and Phil was amused by how much Tony liked _Thor_. Tony insisted Iron Man was better, but Thor was okay too.

After a nap, they went to the park again, and two of Phil's friends were there. Tony screeched off to the monkey bars and Phil, Vivian, and Walter talked about the upcoming physics test tomorrow before tossing a baseball back and forth until it was time to collect Tony.

"I'm Iron Man, you know," he said conversationally, hanging off Phil's hand bonelessly.

"You're made of iron," Phil grunted.

"Bet you can't wait for Friday, then," Vivian said.

"Why?"

"Ah, duh, the new _Avengers_ film. Jeez, Phil, you keep him under a rock?" Walter grinned.

"I try. See you tomorrow, guys."

After waving good-bye, Tony started tugging on his arm. "Phil, Phil, Phil, I wanna see the movie. The Avengers, that's Iron Man."

"Wow, nothing gets by you."

"Yep. Will you take me? Pleeeeease!"

"Maybe Saturday." He'd have to vet the movie to see if it was okay, (oh, darn, he was going to have to see the movie _twice_,) but considering Tony made it through the other five without any big problems, Phil figured the only one who'd have a problem would be anyone who sat next to them.

"Promise?"

"Like I can keep Iron Man from seeing his own movie."

Tony nodded his agreement.

The week passed with a building excitement for Friday. Phil remained quite calm and cool among his friends, but he had a countdown on his laptop and avidly avoided spoilers. (Except, obviously, when he didn't. Phil didn't intentionally hunt out spoilers, but, well, if he happened upon a link warning of them, he clicked because he liked to be prepared.)

He didn't go to the midnight showing – damn school, damn paper route – but he ditched with a bunch of his friends after lunch and made the twelve-forty showing.

And. It. Was. Totally. Worth. It.

Totally.

Yeah, he was taking Tony to this tomorrow.

And they went, establishing a very long list of rules – no talking in the theatre, no throwing popcorn, no running around up the aisles, etc. – and got their seats early. Phil took Tony to the bathroom about three times so there wouldn't be any inopportune breaks.

Of course Tony talked, but at least he tried to whisper. He pointed at the screen to inform Phil whenever a character appeared, asked a bunch of questions, leaned forward in his seat, and basically was a pest for everyone, especially the serious movie-goers who should have known better to come to the earliest showing when everyone brought kids. Eventually Phil put him in his lap.

The only problem Tony really had was Loki being, well, evil. And then him killing Agent Coulson. While Phil was pretty damn sure Tony hadn't noticed Agent Coulson in the other movies, he had really liked Loki. (It was the magic.) Building up Agent Coulson into an actual main character and then killing him – well, that's Whedon for you, the brilliant bastard – really bothered his brother.

"Agent Coulson's not _really_ dead, is he?" Tony asked anxiously as they left the theatre. (His brother should come with a spoiler-alert, and Phil avoided meeting glares of those in line.)

"I don't think so." (Actually, he did think so [except a really tiny part that scoffed and went nobody _died_ in comics permanently, except Uncle Ben; even Bucky and Jason came back].) "Fury just lied so everyone would work together."

"Yeah, I think that too," Tony said firmly, and crawled into the back of Phil's car and into his booster seat. (Phil had long learned to stop being embarrassed at his car being the only one with a booster seat in the school parking lot and never bothered hiding it in the trunk anymore.) "And Loki wasn't really evil, was he?"

"Buckle up."

"I bet it was just a big trick, like he only pretended to kill Agent Coulson. It was funny when Agent Coulson shot him, though. And when Hulk beat him up!"

"Puny God," Phil grinned.

"And Hulk hit Thor, too! Bam! It was funny! And Iron Man saved everybody, did you see? And Agent Coulson's first name was Phil, too, did you know."

"I noticed."

"So since I'm Iron Man, you're Agent Coulson, and you're not dead, so it's all okay, right, Phil."

"I could be a Zombie-Agent and eat your brains."

They kept up the chatter until they got home, both proclaiming it the best in the world.


	3. The Hulk

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_The Hulk Came Next_

Tony's Iron Man mania remained. Phil had bought him an Iron Man shirt that had to be surgically removed every three days to get in the wash, because his brother wore it under his school uniform even with the heat. Every night Phil also had to make up some riveting – but not too riveting, because the point was to put the brat to sleep – Iron Man story, or at least one where Iron Man was the hero.

They went to the park almost every day after school, because Tony trapped in the house made Phil one more symptom closer to insane. Phil's friends usually met them there, and Tony made friends with the other kids.

On this day, Phil had sprawled onto his bench with his iPhone, and Tony went off to the concrete tunnel play area, which was Iron Man's base of operations. (Sometimes the little brat made him crawl into those things to get him when it was time to leave. Those things were a lot bigger when Phil had been younger.)

He had been busy texting when his brother's yelling voice caught his attention, and he looked up to see Tony dive bomb onto a group of three bigger boys and start throwing punches. "What the f—!" he yelled, running over and physically prying the boys apart.

Despite his speed at intervening, Tony was scuffed up and glaring, and still trying to attack.

"What the hell, Tony!"

"They were picking on him! I saw it!"

Phil prayed for some shred of patience as the waist-high twerps literally tried to have another go at each other. He shook off the others, half protecting Tony and half holding him, and pushed them away. "Get lost before I get your parents! Now!"

Tony was smirking until he caught Phil's glaring. "I had to!"

"You never have to fight."

"Iron Man protects the innocent!"

Phil kept from growling or holding his head, and instead grabbed Tony's face to examine him for injuries. "You're impossible."

Tony pushed off his hand and tried to run off, but Phil caught him by the back of the shirt to halt his escape. "Phil! Let go, he's over there."

When he did look to where Tony was pointing, he blinked at actually seeing another boy half-hidden behind the brush. He still kept a full grip on Tony's shirt as they went over, and Phil looked down at the bespeckled boy with blood from his nose staining his shirt and wet eyes, his chest rising and falling with each gasp of breath. Tony wrenched free and bent down. "You're okay now! I saved you, because I'm Iron Man. See." He pointed to his shirt.

Proof his brother needed extensive therapy. "Those kids are gone. You all right?"

The boy wiped his eye and nodded a little, chest still heaving. He probably wasn't any older than Tony, but he was smaller.

"Here, pinch your nose, that'll stop the bleeding." He waited until the other boy did so. "My name's Phil. That's Tony." He held out his hand. "Come on, let's get you to the shelters, we'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll find your mom, okay."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," Tony said. "Phil, too."

Phil thought the other boy honestly _believed_ Tony and he took Phil's hand. He limped to the nearest shelter, and Phil made the two young boys sit a picnic table while he went inside the bathroom and wetted a bunch of toilet paper. When he got back, Tony was distracting the other boy with some exciting and convoluted Iron Man story Phil had never told, but he _had_ told three that had similar parts. The audience remained timid, but he was listening and only jumped a little when Phil sat down and started wiping Tony's face first.

"What's your name?" he asked, ignoring Tony's theatrics.

The boy looked conflicted. "You're a stranger," he whispered.

Phil refrained from rolling his eyes. "Well, yeah, maybe, but I'm not going to hurt you. And I introduced us, so we're only strangers until you tell us your name."

"Phil's my brother," Tony supplied.

"Oh." The boy let himself be cleaned up after Phil silently asked, and he was a much better patient. "My name's Bruce."

Tony's eyes went wide. "No way!" he yelled.

Bruce jerked and almost fell, but Phil caught him and glared at Tony. "Don't yell."

"Phil, do you know who he is!"

"I heard him introduce himself, I'm not deaf. Yet."

Tony snapped his eyes to Bruce. "You're the Hulk!" he whispered, awed. "You beat up Thor and Loki!"

Phil groaned while Bruce looked some cross between confused and terrified. "What? N-n-no, I didn't. I didn't!" he told Phil, afraid of getting in trouble.

"Ignore him, he's an idiot." He gently pried off the fingers from his nose. "It stopped bleeding, I'm going to get the rest of blood off. It might hurt a little."

"Phil, he's the Hulk! That's why those bullies were picking on him. They always pick on the Hulk, even when he's not doing anything," Tony said, the idea firmly entrenched.

"I don't think he's the Hulk, Tony. But he might be Batman," Phil said only a touch sarcastically. (However, if he dared to tried to think like Tony, Phil could maybe pretend to understand his brother's twist of logic. After all, _why else_ would anyone pick on someone else? Tony took his gaming seriously, [which Phil could appreciate,] and it had made Phil have to explain numerous times to _not hit others with "weapons"_ because it _hurt_, even if that _was the point_.)

Tony punched his arm. "Nooo! I'm Iron Man and you're Agent Phil and he's the Hulk, aren't you?"

Bruce quailed under Tony's intensity, which was what any sane person did.

"We're Avengers," Tony added helpfully. "Phil's our Agent, see. He's not dead."

"Y-yeah." Bruce looked around for help before offering, "My mom got me an Avengers folder."

Tony beamed. "See, I told you! Avengers, Assemble!" His voice echoed across the park and scared several squirrels.

Phil decided to save the poor boy. "Where's your mom?"

"At home."

He stared. "Your dad, then?"

"At work."

"Who brought you here?" He kept from frowning.

"I came by myself. I live right there." He pointed across the park to a string of houses. "See, that's my house."

"That's so cool, you live by the park!" Tony squealed. "We have to walk like a million blocks."

Phil was only a little pleased he lived so close. "Do you want to go home?"

"You can't go home! We have to defeat HYDRA"

"What's HYDRA?"

"They're the bad guys," Tony said simply and grabbed his hand. "Don't worry, the Avengers always win. Let me show you my secret base."

Since Bruce seemed okay to be led away, Phil let them go, trying to decide how much therapy his brother needed.

They played for the rest of the afternoon, Bruce, at first timidly but then growing much more bolder, following Tony's lead. After defeating HYDRA, Tony had dragged Phil over to help them sit _on top_ of the monkey bars, and thankfully they started talking about normal things like cartoons and where they went to school. Tony went to Lakefield Primary, the private school, while Bruce was home-schooled, which Tony didn't believe really happened and thought he got to watch TV all day. It made Bruce laugh.

When Phil said it was time to go home, he lifted both boys down – "No, you're NOT a monkey! If you break your neck, don't even think about it!" – and walked Bruce to his house, and then explained what had happened while Bruce showed Tony his room.

He wasn't sure how to subtly say it was stupid to let a kid as young as Bruce and Tony to go to the park unsupervised, so he hoped she understood her son had been beaten up and she _hadn't been there_. After he said that, he had a feeling she understood that while she hadn't been there, Phil had been. Not the lesson he wanted her to learn.

Tony, unsurprisingly, liked Bruce, and he begged almost instantly if they could come back tomorrow, as if they made special trips to the park once in a blue moon. Since Bruce didn't appear too emotionally scarred, Phil promised, and, on the way home, he had a brilliant realization.

Bruce lived next to the park, with a parent who could totally watch Tony. Which meant Phil didn't have to. Which meant, this summer, he could actually plan to do things that didn't involve watching Tony. Maybe, if he hinted, and before Bruce's mom learned what an absolute nightmare Tony was, Tony could _spend the night_ and Phil could have a whole _night_ to himself.

It wasn't that Tony didn't have friends. He had lots of friends, more or less. But Phil had the resigned realization that his brother was the _Weird One In Class_. Not the _Weird and Scary One_, jut the _Weird One_. Tony wouldn't eat the paste – Phil and Tony had had a long discussion about what he could not eat before Tony started school, with much bargaining (Tony talked him down to Play-Doh, but only if it was molded into food, but Phil had stood firm on the paste issue) – but it was a pretty good chance he'd smear it on himself and pour on glitter and say he was a star. (Yeah, a good chance, since he had done that, and only on the second day of class.) Tony always had stories about what he did a school, so no one was at least successfully avoiding him, but Phil had a feeling Tony just wandered between groups or made others play with him by sheer force of personality and imagination.

For instance, see Bruce.

Phil shook his eyes and caught Tony's hand before they crossed the street. Anyway, it'd be nice if Tony could share some of his insanity with someone who wasn't Phil.


	4. The Consultant

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

* * *

_Sometimes, Like in The Consultant, There are Things You Don't Want to Do, And You Just Need the Right Person to Not Do It_

"Come on."

Phil squinted up at his father. "What are you doing here?"

His father wasn't impressed. "I live here, Philip. Come on, we're going out."

He didn't move, turning his attention back to the TV. "Why?"

And then the TV was turned off. "Because I'm your father and I said so." When Phil looked up, there was a grin. "You'll like this."

Doubting it, Phil sighed and got up, taking his time to put on his shoes. So much for a perfect day. Tony was off with their mother, shopping for summer clothes. (Phil wished them both luck.) He had a feeling he was going to have to get new clothes either tomorrow or next weekend, depending on how rough Tony had been.

They got in the car and the ride was made in relative silence for not long enough.

"Any plans for the summer?"

"No."

"How'd your team do?"

That made Phil turn his head. "Team?"

"Your baseball team."

He honestly couldn't believe this. "I haven't played on a team for three years."

"Why not?" his father asked, surprised. "I thought you liked baseball."

Phil couldn't say why – Tony – and he didn't say his feelings on the game – he loved playing it. "Just didn't. It's not a big deal." If he wanted to, he just hit or threw a few balls at the park, and sometimes he let Tony try.

"I liked watching you play."

And when did that happen? Phil honestly couldn't recall a single game either of his parents attended. Grandpa Tony, before he died, was usually the one in the stands. (It might have been coincidence he died around the time Phil stopped playing.) "Sorry."

"Well, it's your life."

There was another length of silence, and Phil watched the scenery. And then he withheld a groan. "Are we going fishing?"

"Yep. Fun, huh?"

"Loads," Phil muttered.

"What? You used to love fishing."

Yeah, when he was Tony's age and was an idiot. Now Phil couldn't think of anything he'd rather not do than spend time in a small boat in the middle of the river with his father. (Shopping for clothes with his mother might tie.)

"We used to fish all the time."

That one Phil couldn't counter as he could with the baseball games, because it had been true. They had stopped for some reason, likely work. So instead he said, "I don't have a license." (So he had looked into taking Tony fishing, once or twice when he caught his brother looking at the cheap Disney reels, but they hadn't because it wasn't worth the price for going one or two days.)

"That's right, you're sixteen. We'll get you one at the shop."

"Great."

Far too soon they were at the landing, the gear that had been hidden in the trunk was taken out, and then Phil had a shiny new license. An uncomfortable feeling started building in his chest, a swell of panic, and he started looking around for a way to escape this sentence. Anything at all.

"This'll be just like old times."

"Great. How long is this going to take?"

"I figured we'd stay out till supper, get something to eat at the diner."

God, save him, this was going to be Hell.

They made it to the dock and Phil realized, "We don't have a boat."

"Sure, we do. Simon's letting us borrow his for the day."

"Ah."

It was not too long before they were going down the river and then fishing. Phil stared at the water, watching the ripples.

"Now this is the life." A pause. "Nothing like fishing with your son."

"What about Tony?"

"We'll bring him next time."

Phil could absolutely wait.

There was another length of silence that was too short. "So, how was school?"

"Fine." Because he knew it was next, he added, "All A's."

"That's good." Pause. "Seeing anyone?"

Phil shot him an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye. Seriously? "No."

"Really? No girl catch your eye?"

That or the reverse or whatever, but Phil was determined that if this conversation continued, he was jumping from the boat and swimming to shore.

"Well, don't worry, it'll happen."

Breast stroke, totally. He'd beat Michael Phelps' record, too.

"So, what—"

"Doesn't talking scare away the fish?" he interrupted.

"Philip, fishing isn't all about catching fish, remember?"

He grunted, slouching forward. "Whatever."

"Philip Lindsay," his father warned. It was always "Philip Lindsay" as a warning. He was safe until the last name came along. It had been that way his whole life. (He'd been Philip to both his parents his whole life, while when he was in third grade the rest of the world turned him into Phil. [Well, Grandma Dottie still called him her little Philly, which stopped being something he wanted said around other people once he learned what a filly was.])

However, at least conversation stopped.

Well, for as long as it took Phil's phone to ring, which had been relative time later. (Phil would have said, it took an eternity, while his father would have thought it had only been a few minutes. Neither was precisely right.)

"Did you have to bring that?"

The answer was, yes. He answered it. "This is Phil."

"Phil! Guess what?"

"Hi, Tony. What?"

"I've got Avengers underwear!" The voice giggled.

"Wow. You had to steal Mom's phone to tell me that."

"Yep! They got everybody on them."

Wonderful, Tony was going to model them when he got home. "That's cool. You guys coming home, then?"

"No."

Phil frowned. "So you're not done shopping?"

"Nope."

"And Mom let you use her phone?"

"I found it in her purse. I dialed your number all by myself, just like you showed me. Except I accidentally called someone else first, but that's okay." One afternoon before school started last year, Phil had very patiently made Tony learn his and the house number, and let Tony practice calling from each line until he got it right.

In the background, Phil could hear some rather strange noises. "Where are you, Tony?"

"Umm … by the Slushee machine. It's blue."

"Where's Mom?"

"What—" he heard his father start.

"She's looking at shirts."

Phil covered his eyes. "Can you _see_ Mom?"

There was a pause. "No."

"You left the store, didn't you."

"Phil, there was a cow!"

A cow in the mall. Phil didn't want to know, except he sort of did. "Can you get back by yourself?"

"Back where?"

He sighed. "To Mom."

There was no answer.

"Tony."

"Phil," he said, with a little note of panic. "Mommy's not here."

"Shh, calm down, it's all right." He turned around and looked at his father. "Tony's lost."

"Damn your mother," his father muttered, reeling in his line and going to the motor.

Well, tonight's fight was going to be fun. Phil tucked his phone into his shoulder and brought his own line in. "Hey, Tones, tell me what else you're getting."

As Tony chatted, clearly feeling better, they got to the landing and car, leaving the gear behind in the boat. And if his father drove a little faster than normal, Phil didn't comment.

He also didn't mention that he could have told Tony to go to the nearest store and have them call Security. (Maybe they'd send Brian. He knew them pretty well.) Because, yeah, it was either back to the boat or to the mall, which would mean he might as well get some clothes too and his parents would be _oh so happy_ they were within five feet of each other. (Though, if Tony had started crying and panicking, Phil would have dealt with the boat-thing and told him to how to get to security. Thankfully, Tony rarely panicked.)

Phil did not want to go back to the boat, so he kept talking with Tony. God Bless his brother, sometimes.


	5. Iron Man 2

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_Iron Man 2 Actually Had the Start of the Team_

Tony and Bruce soon proved to be inseparable. True to prophecy, Tony only spent a few visits over at Bruce's before the other boy's mother delicately pointed out Tony was a very _active_ little boy. (_Nooo_, Phil hadn't noticed that at all.) It might have had something to do with the fact that Phil had very politely but firmly told her that Tony was not allowed at the park unless he had someone on site to supervise him. Not across the street, on site. (He lied and said it was their parents' rule, but after dealing with Tony, Bruce's mom didn't call him on it. She might have decided it was a city law the mayor had drafted just for Tony.)

Even still, he had had nearly ten days once school was out where he could be Tony-free almost all day! (All his friends joked and asked him where his little shadow was, where did he hide the body.)

So, fine, whatever, now Phil had to watch two little "Avengers," because Bruce was happy to be sucked into Tony's game and pretended to be Dr. Banner and/or the Hulk, or, more often, Dr. Hulk. He didn't completely understand the transformation from mild-mannered to rage monster, so he was a very polite and chatty monster who always made sure he could really knock something down. (Which was nice, because when Phil had been deemed [cajoled] the bad HYDRA agent, [who really was a double agent, but only Phil knew that,] Bruce always made sure he _could _attack and said exactly what he was going to do, unlike Tony, who just leapt from the couch onto Phil's back and wailed on him.)

There were a few fun "missions". For instance, once Tony had said HYDRA was developing an underwater base – between the lines: Phil, I want to swim today! Can we, please, please, please! – and it turned into teaching the Hulk how to swim because they were mermaids now. (WTF? Phil didn't ask, nor offer the suggestion that they were mermans, but he did stress he was _not_ a mermaid.) It ended up with Phil floating on a raft and Bruce and Tony tossing a ball back and forth, and Phil telling them to keep both of their arm floaties on without even paying attention to them. (Yeah, he wasn't _deaf_, and neither of them were _quiet_.)

Of course, the park was where they usually went. That was fine. There were less breakable things there, and there was a baseball field Phil and his friends practiced on, a basketball court they totally owned, or benches where they lounged while Iron Man and the Hulk saved the world. Sometimes they became the bad guys without even being aware they were the bad guys, or needed rescuing because they were ignorant hostages. Phil's friends, long used to Tony and the fact that where Phil was Tony probably was too, went with it, though Phil knew they sometimes – all the time – thought Tony was a pain in the ass. He prayed none of them would suddenly decide Phil wasn't worth all Tony's shit. (It happened. Phil didn't like to think about it, and if [when] he did, he did his best to convince himself he got the better end of the deal. [He usually managed.])

Today, the group of them were on the picnic table following a brutal basketball game. Basketball really wasn't Phil's game – he liked baseball and he'd kick around a soccer ball – but considering three of his friends were on the team, he always felt he held his own even if he was schooled miserably.

Brad elbowed him sharply to get his attention, and Phil hit him back with a scowl. "What?"

"Isn't that your brother's friend? He's been staring at us," Brad said, pointing over to the trash bins. Phil followed the direction and groaned because, yes, Bruce was there, half hiding.

"Great."

"Man, Phil, you just get all the luck, don't you," Matt snickered, and Phil flipped him off before waving a hand a Bruce to tell him to get his ass over here. Bruce actually looked _behind _himself as if Phil would have been signaling someone else.

"Please don't involve the cops."

"Dude, I still say your bro has some brass balls," Andre pointed out. He had been there when Tony glared up at Officer Mika and loudly defended his right to throw rocks at pigeons and into the fountain. (Oh, God, Phil still got chills when Officer Mika – who everyone knew actually _shot_ someone for jaywalking – escorted his brother to the baseball field where his friends and he and _everybody else _had been after that incident, and Phil had felt all the shame and terror Tony hadn't. [Except he totally kept his cool.] He almost killed his brother when they got home.)

Phil rolled his eyes and sat forward when Bruce finally made it to them, eyes darting over the group, and he realized belatedly that it was possible the boy was scared. Of course he was, they were all older kids, and Bruce didn't have Tony's familiarity with them (or his complete lack of inhibition at introducing himself). "What is it, Bruce?" he said, voice a bit gentler than it could have been.

Bruce mumbled something, looking down, and Phil caught nothing except Tony's name and something about the sandbox.

"What did Tony do?"

"Either something damn-ass hilarious or … yeah, hilarious," Brad muttered.

Yeah, hilarious. Migraine-inducing, more likely.

Bruce's eyes darted up and instead he grabbed Phil's hand and tugged. Phil sighed. Fine. It was late anyway, everyone would have been going home for supper soon enough. He turned to his friends. "Looks like I got to take this, and I got to get Bruce home anyway. Tomorrow?"

His friends nodded and said bye, and even to Bruce, who half-hid behind Phil but managed a mumbled reply, and George said to text them with Tony's latest mischief. Phil nearly told him to fuck off, except Bruce was next to him, so he just flipped them off again when he was leading Bruce away. Their laughter followed them.

"Sorry," Bruce mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." It wasn't Bruce's fault Tony was a terror unwanted in five states. "What did he do?"

"He said I had to get you because you could convince the Black Widow to join the Avengers." There was a definite rote of making sure the words were exactly said as he had heard them.

Oh, that little shit! Phil grimaced and wished he never took his brother to that movie. "You're kidding me."

"No. You're not mad, are you?" Bruce asked anxiously.

"We'll see."

Bruce led him, as Phil had heard, to the sandboxes, and he saw Tony pestering a dark-haired girl maybe a little older than the two boys who looked two seconds from braining his brother with her toy shovel and pail.

"Tony!" he said sharply.

Tony and the girl both jerked up and looked at him, Tony's face splitting into a grin and the girl turning cautious. "Phil!" He rushed over and tugged on Phil's hand. "You gotta convince her to join us!"

He felt more like telling her to run, run fast, and never look back, and to consider herself lucky, but Phil's gaze was stuck on the three Barbie and two Monster High dolls sticking up from the sand. They had been buried up to their necks. "Tony, did you bury her toys?" He hoped his voice was carefully modulated.

"No. We were going to rescue them, but it turns out they're HYDRA and the Black Widow already took care of them. I heard her speaking Russian to them, so I know it's her, because you said she spoke Russian, remember."

Oh, God, was it too late to stop this madness? Phil face-palmed, literally.

"All right, Tony, stop. Stand by Bruce, now. Now!" Once Tony was far away from the girl, Phil looked down at her and started the long-practiced start of apologizing for whatever his brother had done. "I'm sorry he bothered you."

The girl was still leery of him and glancing at Bruce and a Tony, who was bouncing on his feet excitedly. And then she said something that had Phil's eyebrows up to his hairline.

"See! Russian!" Tony crowed.

All right, _not Russian_, but that was a vocabulary little girls and boys should not say or, in Phil's opinion, even know. (It meant Tony would be able to repeat it accurately with only one hearing, he was sure, and to everyone who would take offense.) "You do not call people that," Phil said sternly in Spanish, because he was fifth-module and Mike spoke fluently and taught them all the words teachers didn't.

"You can speak Russian, too?" (All right, Phil preened a little at the awe in Tony's voice. He just earned a million Cool Brother points.)

The girl, however, was startled, and then looked down at her dolls scowling and dug the end of the shovel in the dirt to make a gouge.

"Apologize."

"You can't make me," she said rebelliously, still looking down, and she scooped up some sand and started burying the heads.

How the Hell did Tony find these people? "I shouldn't have to. You should know better than to speak like that."

She called him a very rude word and he glared down at her. "Did that make you feel better?" he asked evenly. Dealing with Tony had long taught Phil to not react when the brat was in a mood. (Yeah, taught him, but sometimes Phil did still lash back. But he wasn't related to this girl and therefore was not allowed to threaten bodily harm.)

She scowled and didn't answer.

He crossed his arms. "Tony wants you to join his playgroup, because he's …." Unable to describe Tony without being just as derogatory as the girl, he went a different way. "But if you're going to talk like that, _I_ don't. Tony, Bruce, let's go," he said, switching to English.

"But Phil," Tony started, looking between him and the girl.

"It's time to go home."

"She's going to join the Avengers, right? You're going to join, aren't you? You're the Black Widow, you totally have to be, because look at what you did to HYDRA." He pointed at her victims even as Phil grabbed his other hand to prepare to drag him away. "You kicked their butts."

"We're going now."

"We'll be here tomorrow!" Tony yelled his promise, before looking up at Phil with adoration. "I knew you could get her to join us."

"She's not."

Tony's jaw dropped. "What? Why? You _talked_ to her! In _Russian_!"

It'd be too much work to correct Tony's belief, and Phil didn't want to try subtly fixing it by watching _Dora the Explorer_. Instead, he said, "She's not very nice."

"Yes, she was. She was Black Widow-nice."

He closed his eyes briefly. Why did he have to be cursed with Tony and his skewing of the world?

"Did she not want to play with us, Phil?" Bruce asked, worried and a little hurt.

Tony piffled the notion. "Of course she did! We're cool. We're Avengers."

Phil searched his brain to think of a way to soften it for Bruce, because Tony would believe whatever the hell he wanted until was very forcefully shoved in his face, and then Phil would have deal with the crying, which, just no. "I think she probably didn't like being forced into it." Bruce's face made a little oh of understanding and he looked guilty.

"We didn't force her," Tony said dismissively. "She'll play with us tomorrow."

"Leave her alone. She'll bury you in the sandbox."

"_Duh_, because she's the Black Widow."

Phil rolled his eyes, took both their hands, and crossed the street to get to Bruce's house. Bruce's mother, while at the same time keeping a firm eye on Tony (as if afraid he'd teleport out of Phil's grip), thanked Phil for watching her son, both habits she always did. When the brothers were walking down the sidewalk, Tony waved wildly, and Phil saw he was waving at the little girl who seemed to be watching them.

The next day, Phil was wary about letting Tony and Bruce (mostly Tony) out of his immediate eye-sight, but he decided it was unlikely they'd run into the girl again – Tony had said they'd come back, she knew to avoid them. And if they did, well, maybe if she punched Tony, he'd get the hint. (Of course, then Phil would have to figure out how to deal with those outcomes: crying Tony and getting back at her for hurting his brother, because only Phil was allowed to do that.) It'd be better if she just didn't show up.

Which meant, of course the first person Tony and Bruce saw the next day was the same girl sitting on the swings, and Tony took off only for Phil to catch the back of his shirt and almost choke him. "No."

"Phil!" Tony twisted futilely.

"No. Leave her alone. Both of you."

"But –"

"I'm serious, Tony. If you can't, we can go home right now. I'm _not dealing with this_."

Tony pouted but didn't protest, hearing Phil's tone, and he didn't run off when Phil let go. Though he did glance at the girl again.

"We can't play with her?" Bruce asked, casting a hopeful look at the girl too. (Phil had already known it was too late to save Bruce from Tony's insanity, but he had prayed, just a little, that Bruce wasn't as invested in this Avengers play as Tony.)

Yeah, Phil was going to tell Tony something he couldn't do. "If _she_ wants to play with you, that's all right. She has to come to you. But otherwise, leave her alone. The park is big enough. Got it?"

Bruce nodded and Tony looked down, scowling and scuffing his toe in the dirt. However, when Phil said his name, he nodded too, with a dramatic sigh for effect.

"Good." He checked his phone for the time. "I'll be over by the tables until my friends get here. Will you two be okay?"

They said they would, and just before he left, Phil bent down to meet Tony's eyes, because he was still pouting. "I know you want her to join, Tones, but … well, sometimes people don't because you want it too much. You're a little terrifying."

"I am not!"

"You are," Phil smirked, poking his stomach and causing a few giggles to escape. "You're like the big dog with the huge teeth, like Bosko, who scares everyone when he runs at them because they think he's going to attack them, but all Bosko wants to do it try to figure out how many licks it takes to wipe your face off."

Tony seemed to appreciate this analogy. "Will you play with us too?"

"Maybe later. But if something happens, you come get me, right."

He agreed carelessly, because Tony had long learned Phil's rules about playing in the park, which included but was not limited to not talking to strangers, not climbing objects except the those in the playground, and no for-real fighting. When in doubt, get Phil. Despite what others thought, Tony obeyed the rules. He obeyed rules, he didn't obey orders. It's a distinction and sometimes a real pain, but Phil accepted it and was just glad Tony could listen.

Phil went off and soon was joined by his friends, and they played a few rounds of basketball, because as members of the school's team they generally felt they always had to play it and make Phil feel ridiculous. It was still fun, of course, but Phil was still trying to decide if he should start bringing a ball and mitt to make things go his way.

Unfortunately for Phil, no one really stayed long. Brad and Mike had to get to work at two, and it turned out Paul earned his mother's wrath so much that everyone could hear her yelling from ten paces away when she called to ripped Paul a new one. Paul had been Andre's ride, and Walter decided since everyone else was leaving, he might as well abandon Phil and spend time with his girlfriend. (Yeah, so much for the _bros before hoes_ code.)

He kept his disappointment, though. It was just part of life, and he had bailed probably even more than they ever did to him because of Tony.

Perhaps he'd treat Tony and Bruce to an ice cream. He didn't like to do it too much, because it came out of his own money, but it sounded like a good idea. Although he had to remember Bruce had diet restrictions, but he was pretty sure his mother said it was okay for a little treat now and again and Bruce knew his limits. (Phil privately didn't believe it, because more than once Tony had rushed to get him when Bruce had _not looked good_. That first time, when he had no idea what was going on, still gave Phil chills. The boy's mother could have _warned_ him, at least.)

Yeah, ice cream sounded good right about now, and it was hot out anyway.

Thus decided, Phil slouched back to where the main playground. The two didn't immediately appear, though he wasn't worried. First he checked the jungle gym, but there was only a younger boy he wasn't too familiar with. Since becoming friends with Bruce, Tony had greatly limited who he played with to _just_ Bruce, otherwise Phil had a feeling he'd at least know the kid's name and general how-much-he-could-tolerate-Tony. Before Bruce, Tony had gravitated to any kid near his age to either play with or by, or, more likely, spent a lot more time with Phil and _his_ friends.

Bruce was a god-send.

He checked a few more locations before turning to the _secret base_, and as he neared the sideways concrete pipe, Phil could hear the reverberating sound of Tony's voice. (His pulse, which hadn't been up too much since he hadn't been worried, slowed down.) He dropped down to his knees and leaned into the opening. "Hey, you two, you want to get an ice cream?"

… Yeah, note to self, Phil: never block the exit after mentioning getting an ice cream.

Tony was bouncing around him excitedly as Phil brushed himself off, while Bruce crawled out, and then, to Phil's surprise – but part of him, deep down, went, _are you honestly surprised? This is Tony_ – the dark-haired girl followed. She looked up at him, half defiant and half worried and half hopeful. (There was a lot of overlap in those halves.)

"Well," he said intellectually, looking down at her.

"Phil, ice cream! You promised!" Tony said, tugging his arm.

"I asked, not promised," he corrected. "Do you want one, too?"

The girl, after a quick glance to Tony and Bruce, nodded vigorously.

He sighed, because that was three more dollars of his he was going to spend, but there was no way Phil was going to tell Tony his newest apparent friend wasn't getting one because Phil hadn't known she was there before his offered. "Are you allowed to leave the park? The ice cream parlor is a few blocks away, we have to tell whomever you're with."

She lifted her chin fiercely. "I'm not a baby, I can come here by myself."

His eyes widened. Not another one! "Does someone know you're here?"

The girl rolled her eyes, like he had asked a stupid question. But at his continued staring, she said, "Yes. My sister knows."

"How old is she?" This was not a question asked vetting for a possible date. This was information gathering to figure out how stupid and irresponsible she was.

"Thirteen."

Then she was old enough to _know better_!

"Phil! Ice cream!" Tony whined.

"Fine." But this was so not done.

They walked out of the park, Phil took Bruce and Tony's hands, and after refusing to move until she took someone's hand, the girl went around to take Bruce's, and they crossed the street. Phil still kept a grip on Tony's once on the other side, because he was bouncing around and liable to run ahead to the parlor.

It was refreshingly cool inside, and Tony immediately rushed to look down at the tubs for his selection. Bruce and the girl imitated and there was chatter as they tried to decide. Except for an older man who looked vaguely familiar in the corner and the server, they were the only ones inside.

Eventually, everyone had a single-scoop cone – Bruce picked strawberry, the girl wanted cookies and crème, Tony had the rainbow whatever flavor, and Phil chose plain vanilla – and was sitting down in a booth, and it was quiet was they focused on their treat. Phil took the time to study the girl.

"What's your name?"

She looked up from daintily licking, while Tony butted in. "She's Black Widow, Phil. Duh."

"That's her code name. I would like to know her name."

The girl took a second to be insolently quiet, while Tony and Bruce both looked on curiously. Clearly there hadn't been introductions. "Anita."

"It's nice to meet you, Anita," Phil said, and Bruce echoed with a quiet hello. Tony was frowning.

"What's the Black Widow's real name, Phil?"

"Natasha Romanov."

Disappointment flared in his face. "Oh."

Phil almost laughed. Clearly, since Tony and Bruce had names that matched their counterparts, Tony had expected her too as well. Then Phil had a flash of fear that because she didn't make such strict guidelines, Tony might kick her out. He might have not liked the girl much yesterday, and still didn't know if he liked her or if this actually was going to be a permanent thing like with Bruce, but it wouldn't have been fair or nice. "At least, one of her names. She goes by a lot of aliases. Other names. She's a spy."

Tony brightened up considerably, as if his world was right again.

"So what did you tw—three get up to?"

Tony launched into a play-by-play account, with help from Bruce and Anita, and Phil slowly got a picture of how Anita had joined in. Tony and Bruce had left her alone, apparently by playing _five feet away from her_ and making comments like _we really need another Avenger, like Black Widow, _and _this is a whole lot of fun_! Anita had been too weak to withstand the temptation, the poor little fool.

It took Phil a bit to realize there was an additional audience aside from him. There was a quiet chuckle from the other patron at the story the three were telling, and Tony twisted in his seat to see who was also listening. Phil couldn't see his face, but he heard the words clear enough. "Director Fury!"

Phil almost felt himself pass out as Bruce offered a casual wave and the man returned it, greeting Tony and listening as Tony chatted like they were old friends. It was Mr. Young, the principal at Tony's school. (And formally Phil's, though he hadn't met the man as often as Tony likely did.) All he could think was, _please, not because he's black, please, not because he's black, please, not because he's black_, because Mr. Young did not have an eye patch or wear long black coats and he had hair and _oh god, it was because he was black_.

Mr. Young was clearly long used to being talked to by Tony, and was smiling. Tony wiggled out of the booth to go sit next to him, with no regard to the _rule_ that one _avoids_ teachers (and principals) when not in school, one pretends they don't exist, because they are only allowed to exist at school. It was the rule!

Phil was still feeling contact embarrassment while Tony and Mr. Young chatted, talking about what they were doing in the summer and after Tony introduced Bruce and Anita. And he couldn't think how to get out of this, at all. His telepathic abilities to tell Tony to _shut the hell up_ remained, as they always had, dormant.

However, at least his old habits could be relied upon. When there was a lull and the ice cream long since devoured, Phil said, "Tony, go wash your face and hands."

"Phil, I'm talking to—"

He interrupted before the name came out, because he could only take so much. "You're a mess. If you don't get clean now, you'll have to take a bath later." (He was going to have to anyway, but Phil would disguise it as swimming in the pool.)

That got the little monster of embarrassment to zip away, with a barely polite excuse. Bruce followed him to the bathroom and Anita, looking down at her own hands, went to the girls'.

And now it was just Phil and Mr. Young.

This was _worse_.

How, exactly, did one apologize for Tony's ignorant racial profiling? To the principal of his elementary school? In all Phil's experience – and it was vast, apologizing for Tony – he didn't have this one, and he didn't know how to begin. (The only plus he could think of for this entire situation was that, as Tony's principal, Mr. Young already knew exactly how Tony was. Did that mean Phil didn't _have_ to apologize? No, he probably wasn't that lucky.)

"Having a good summer, Phil?"

"Erm, yeah. You?"

Mr. Young nodded, still smiling, as he had been all through Tony's monologue. "It's nice to see my former students, and the current ones. It seems Tony's having a blast. Nice to see he's making some friends."

Phil shrugged and started piling the napkins up. "More like holding them hostage," he said to himself. Then he took a deep breath and, as the pile got higher, rushed out, "Sorry about the Nick Fury thing. It's … he's Tony."

The man laughed. "Don't be. It's flattering being Samuel L. Jackson. He's been calling me that since the movie came out."

"What?" Phil's head shot up as his heart sputtered. Oh, god, it was worse than he thought.

"Yeah," Mr. Young said fondly. "He asked if I could be Nick Fury when I mentioned I flew a plane. Hobby pilot."

Okay, now his brain was broke. Tony asked? Flew a plane? Hobby? "What?" As a _hobby, _flew a fucking plane? (Oh, god, were there snakes on it? [Stop it, Brain, just stop it!]) Then he groaned. "Did he get sent to the office?"

"Nah. He doesn't really get sent up that much."

Phil doubted it, though he supposed if Tony did, there'd be more parent-teacher conferences and notes brought home.

"You know he doesn't have many friends," Mr. Young continued delicately.

Oh, now Phil could see it clearly. Tony had scared the other children away and they had managed to be some place he couldn't follow, so he had turned to a victim who had to listen to him. He nodded to Mr. Young's comment.

"He tries, and he's not a bad kid, as you know, so it's nice he found Bruce and Anita."

"Just Bruce," Phil corrected. "Anita … it's the first time they played together." It was pointless to say Tony played with a lot of children just one time.

"Well, we'll see."

Anita had slipped out of the bathroom and made it back to the booth, looking between Phil and Mr. Young cautiously. Phil withheld his sigh. "We're going to walk you home. I want to talk to your sister."

"I took the bus."

"By yourself?" Phil got out before he could stop himself.

She raised her chin defiantly. "I'm a big girl."

"I'll drive you home."

Anita didn't protest, and maybe she looked a little relieved. Riding the bus was daunting, sometimes. Before much more conversation could happen, Bruce and Tony came tumbling out, giggling at something, and Phil had to check himself from going into the bathroom to see what they had done. It wasn't his bathroom, and people took risks all the time using a public restroom.

"All right, team, it's time to go," he said, standing up.

"Bye, Mr. Young!" Tony said in his loud voice.

"Good-bye, Tony. I hope you have a good summer. You, too, Bruce. Anita. Phil."

Everyone echoed similar sentiments, and Phil herded them outside. Once the door was shut and, for good measure, they had walked ten feet away, he asked in as casual voice as he could manage, "So … Nick Fury?" Both Anita – balancing on the sidewalk cracks, as on the way there Phil hadn't allowed to balance on the curb – and Bruce – avoiding walking on the cracks – paid attention, curious as well.

Tony nodded, beaming. "He can fly a plane, Phil! Like it the movie."

Was Tony thinking the helicarrier? Or did Fury fly in the films? Phil's brain couldn't remembered, but he felt himself relax just a little.

"And he knows everything," Tony continued after a pause, clearly thinking. "And he's the boss."

"So Nick Fury. Good to know."

And, yeah, Phil guessed he could see it. When he had been Tony's age, Mr. Young had been one scary mother-fucking magnificent bastard.

(The description had been more Rated G back then, but the point still stood.)


	6. A Funny Thing Happened

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Thor's Hammer was a Snapshot of Life: Doing Something Normal and Having to Deal with Something that was Also Inconveniently Normal Only for You_

Tony held up the box of Fruit-By-The-Foot and gave him some puppy eyes. "Pleeeease, Phil?"

Phil looked at it before going back to his list. "You already asked for a bag of cookies. I told you, you're not filling up my cart again." Nice words, but Phil made Tony be his gopher. (It was a somewhat dangerous choice on his part, because Tony didn't understand not grabbing things from the bottom of the pile. [Oh, all that fruit.] Also, sometimes pointless, because Tony grabbed the wrong stuff, so Phil still had to get whatever they needed.) Hopefully his brother never figured Phil out.

"Please?"

He did the mental math, and then did the actual math on the column of his list. "All right. But I'm serious, nothing else. We have a budget."

"Yay!" Tony cheered, tossing the box inside the half-full cart and almost squashing the loaf of bread.

Phil's lips quirked. "Not exactly my sentiment."

They continued onto the store, loading up on the Mac-n-Cheese and Spaghetti-Os, because Phil could cook them and Tony would, more importantly, eat them. Packets of meat slices, and then later cheese, for sandwiches also were chosen, and anything that went in the cart had its price carefully tallied.

Tony was not allowed to touch the eggs, and even though he begged for chocolate milk, Phil put in white, because, as he patiently explained, they had chocolate syrup at home and could make their own.

They made it to the check-out with the whole list crossed out and only a few things not on it put in the cart. (Tony had helpfully informed Phil that they were Out of Toilet Paper when Phil planned to pass that aisle. Phil wasn't willing to risk Tony being wrong.) Tony drooled and tried to beg for candy, but Phil said no.

He was just getting his change when it happened.

"Philip? Tony?"

"Mommy!" Tony hollered and went around the lane to give her a hug, which almost upset her and her one bag.

Phil sighed and pushed his cart over much more sedately. "Mom. Hi."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Seriously, if she couldn't figure that out, Phil was not helping. "Nothing."

"We're shopping!" Tony explained.

Their mother made a face. "If you just bought junk food."

"It's my money," Phil said mutinously.

"Phil let me get cookies _and_ Fruit-By-The-Foot."

"That's nice of him." She gave him the Talking Face. "If you have money to spend on that, you could start putting a little towards your car insurance that we're paying. Or your phone."

Phil kept his face blank. There was no right answer to this.

"And guess what, Mommy! We got Batman Spaghetti-Os, not just the circles and letters we always get, but we got them too. But Phil wouldn't let us get the Scooby Doo Mac-n-Cheese." He glared at Phil for that lost battle. "Can we get them, please, Mommy?"

"… Maybe next time."

"What did you buy? Phil almost put in _pink_ toilet paper, but I stopped him." (Phil had been joking.)

"We need toilet paper?"

Phil shrugged while Tony nodded.

Their mother looked a bit flustered. "What else did you buy?"

"Junk food," Phil said snidely.

"Lots of stuff! We got grapes and bananas and a bag of apples and the flaky potatoes and milk and eggs and Batman Spaghetti-Os and Mac-n-Cheese and bread and meat and cheese and cookies and, and what else, Phil?"

He slouched down. "That's about it."

"Oh, and Phil let me get _bubble bath_, Mommy! It has Iron Man on it!"

Phil rolled his eyes. It better not end up in the pool, was all he said to Tony.

"What did you get, Mommy? Did you get Scooby Doo Mac-n-Cheese?"

(Phil doubted it.)

"Just some coffee and food for work." She looked at Phil. "You could have told me we needed to go shopping, Philip."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

"But Mommy, it's Wednesday, we always go shopping on Wednesday. It's our shopping day." Tony had to learn to shut his frigging mouth. "Otherwise Phil says we'd starve."

"Tony, shut up," Phil snapped.

"Philip!" his mother said automatically.

"Let's just go. You want to ride with Mom or me?"

Tony was hardly heartbroken. "I want a Fruit-By-The-Foot!"

They made the awkward walk out of the store, and thankfully they had parked in different rows on the lot. It would have been his luck if they were parked next to each other.

He was not looking forward to going home. Since when did his mother shop when it wasn't Saturday?

Of course their mother, with her one bag, beat them home, and Phil carried in the groceries, which, once on the floor, Tony dug through searching for his prize.

About the only plus in this day was at least _he_ didn't have to put the groceries away.

He avoided talking, because he had nothing to say, and when he put the bubble bath and toilet paper away – all right, Tony had been right – he didn't bother coming back downstairs. His father came home soon afterwards with supper, which was pizza. Phil ate his in front of the TV with Tony, and they watched _Madagascar_.

The next morning, after he got back from his route, there was an envelope with his name on it and five twenties inside. More than he spent, but whatever. Free money.


	7. Thor

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_Thor was a Movie About Brothers_

It turned out that Anita decided to continue playing with Tony and Bruce, which bemused Phil. Tony tended to take people hostage, and once she had been released, she came back, so it was clear the girl was somewhat interested or had a low sense of self-preservation. After taking her home the first day, he'd noticed grimly that her bus ride had to have been at least thirty minutes and involved an exchange, since the nearest stop by her house was the Number 32 and that one didn't come anywhere near enough to the park for a girl her age to walk to get there. The sister who had been allegedly watching her hadn't impressed Phil when she answered the door holding a phone and then _staring_ at him like she couldn't understand why he was there, nor what the problem was at Anita being at the park.

Deep down, Phil understood not everyone followed the same rules and guidelines he did for watching Tony, and perhaps he was a little too cautious (though he doubted it). And he knew he couldn't force people to follow his example, but it still set his teeth on edge, and he sat there while Anita showed Tony around her house until he could speak with one of Anita's parents. Anita's sister, Laura, had watched him before she went to talk on the phone in the kitchen, and he couldn't hear much of the conversation he had no interest to eavesdrop on. He had eventually turned to watching the two brats play in the back yard for some form of entertainment.

At least Anita's _father_ understood the seriousness, when he had finally come home.

Honestly, given the distance Anita lived from the park and the stern order she was never to ride the bus by herself again, Phil had been prepared that it was the end of the group, and he had left the house with Tony preparing how to gently break the news to the two boys. Somehow. He wasn't sure what he would have said, but he knew it wouldn't have been met happily.

It was to his surprise that the next morning, Anita's mother called and asked if it would be all right if Anita came over. Phil had been shocked speechless and agreed, and within the hour Anita was there with a bathing suit and towel in hand. Anita's mother said her father would pick Anita up after work, if that was all right, and _here was some money_. Phil stupidly tried to refuse it, but thankfully it was weakly, and then, because he was boss at this kind of stuff, asked for phone numbers, programmed them into his phone, and made her verify them. And then, recalling Bruce, asked if Anita had any allergies, health conditions, annoyances (he phrased that better), and other things he should know.

Once the woman had hugged and kissed Anita good-bye, Phil leaned against the door and looked at the two brats. "How did you know my phone number?"

"Tony told me."

Of course the little shit had. "So we're swimming today?"

Anita looked especially eager – it was clear why she returned, the carrot was overcoming the stick – and Tony nodded. "But first we got to get Bruce."

Why did his little brother get to schedule his life for him? However, with Anita actually here and excited, Phil wasn't going to be a heel and try to fix the itinerary. He wouldn't get _any_ peace, he knew, because his brother's outrage, Anita's disappointment, and his own guilt would assure it.

So it became an uncomfortably familiar thing for Anita to be dropped off late in the morning during the week, and Phil would have protested more, but there was money. Sometimes after her father picked her up wherever Phil texted – at precisely 4:15 – they were, he'd take Tony and they'd stop at the store or something and get to spend his little surplus of cash, because, wow, this extra cash thing was nice, especially since it generally was _in_ cash and not a check that went directing into the bank.

(He wondered if he could somehow give Bruce's mom a subtle hint to be more like Anita's parents, because that would be completely fine.)

They still went to the park a lot, but with Anita visiting almost daily – she remained at home on the weekend – they started spending more time at the house. Bruce's mom would drop him off on the odd days instead of making the group walk to the park and back, which Phil appreciated. (Money would be good, too.) Because variety also helped, sometimes Phil took them to the library or museum, things he would have done when it was just him and Tony. (He always cleared it with the others' parents.) (He never took them shopping. That was asking for trouble.)

Today, already strange because it was Saturday and Anita was with them, was one of those days they should have stayed at home, because the park was _packed_. When Phil saw the banner for the company and the area where the food and games were set up, he knew why. Stupid employee appreciation picnics that really tried to show their appreciation, because Tony and Anita were already salivating at the excitement and how the hell do you tell two – and soon to be three – kids they weren't allowed to go into the fun areas? (Good god, there was a bouncy house and ponies!)

Once he saw them from his stoop, Bruce had yelled something inside the house and rushed to them, and then Phil was surrounded by three excited kids, all straining and eagerly wanting to rush ahead. He took a deep breath, ready to say they were going back home, and when their faces looked up at him … he couldn't.

Well, there were like a million people here. The four of them wouldn't even be noticed. And they'd just pretend to be visiting relatives or something.

"Come on, Phil!" Tony exclaimed, tugging on his arm.

Once the fear that someone was going to haul them out from crashing abated, it was _fun_. Everything was free – well, Phil thought so, and he didn't make an effort to look too deeply – and deeply entertaining. True, it_ was_ more tailored to the four-foot and under crowd, but Phil long learned to take enjoyment in Tony's – and lately Bruce's and Anita's – happiness.

They waited in line for the bouncy house several times, had their faces painted (even Phil deigned to join, as all three of the brats begged him to,) and then their pictures taken as a group. (Tony had demanded a full face of the Iron Man mask, Anita had a very pretty rainbow butterfly whose wings spread over her eyes, Bruce chose to look like a puppy, and Phil allowed them to pick out a very decorative half-mask the for him. [The face painter grinned as she work, the three kids giggled during the process, and, secretly, Phil was impressed at the result.]) Phil took more pictures on his phone and promised each of them copies after they finished crowding around the look at the tiny screen's results. There were also small toys for the kids of the employees given out, and one of the attendants had given each of them a bag containing a water gun, a bit of candy and peanuts, a neon-colored hat, and a whistle before Phil could tell him not to. (Phil immediately confiscated the water guns and whistles, putting them in his backpack he had started carrying around when he had to deal with more than just Tony.) They took part in a coloring contest (except Phil didn't enter them, just in case).

The big draw was the ponies, though. It had taken a bit to get set up, and once it was clear the _Rides Could Commence_, he was very literally dragged and pushed over to the gated area. He promised to take lots of pictures of each of them and let them join the long line while he went to lean against the fence, enjoying his blue snow cone in the heat.

When the three of them were on the ponies, each of them waved at him every time they passed, and posed for the camera. Anita was absolutely thrilled, Bruce had wide eyes and a big grin, and Tony – well, he seemed a bit more terrified, white-knuckled on the harness, but he still managed a smile.

"Can we go again?" Anita asked as soon as they were at his side, and Bruce eagerly seconded the notion. Tony was silent.

Phil nodded, before bending down to Tony. "You want to take the pictures with my phone, Tony? My arm's getting tired holding up my phone all the time."

"I can use your phone?" Tony asked, awed. Phil didn't often let him, because Tony _did things_ to it, like accidentally delete the phone book and photos or change his ring tones or drop it or call and _talk_ to people.

"Yep."

Tony reached out with greedy hands, and Phil patiently showed him how to work the camera while Anita and Bruce went back in line. There would be a lot of photos of the ground or strangers, but he'd delete those later. Phil helped Tony up on the fence and kept him steady, and because of all the teaching and picture-taking practice, Bruce and Anita were soon waving from the ponies again. Random riders also waved at them too, and Tony took their pictures as well.

While the riders dismounted, Tony was busy showing Phil all the pictures he had taken, so it was with surprise that when they did look down, Bruce and Anita had brought a friend, one of the frequent wavers, Phil recognized.

"Erm, hello?" Phil said.

"Hi!" His smile was missing three teeth and had also seen the face painters, with tiger stripes and fangs decorating his face.

"This is Frankie. He's in my class," Anita explained. "Can he play with us, too?"

"I guess if it's all right with his folks."

Frankie didn't bother running off to ask, but Phil figured that was all right and he helped Tony down. Tony examined the new boy, seemingly at a loss for some reason, and he looked up at Phil. "What's wrong?" Phil asked.

"Is he an Avenger, too?"

Phil winced. Not that, not now. Couldn't they just be normal kids for a day?

However, Frankie's eyes brightened. "Avengers! They are so cool! I've seen the movie like a bazillion times and the cartoon and I have a bunch of toys and a tattoo! See!" He showed his arm and the faded temporary tattoo with pride.

"So you are an Avenger!" Tony said excitedly, a touch envious at the tattoo. "See, I'm Iron Man, cause my name's Tony, and Bruce is Hulk cause he's Bruce too, and Anita is Black Widow because she speaks Russian and has an ally-up—"

"Alias," Phil corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That, too, and Phil is Agent Phil, and you can be Hawkeye cause you got funny eyes!"

"Tony!" Phil scolded in shock while Frankie merely said, "Awesome!"

Phil had a headache, brought on by too much sun and too much Tony and too much Avengers. And it was totally wrong to do, but he said, "Why don't we get something to eat? It's almost lunch time. Frankie, it's okay if you want to eat with us, but go tell your folks, okay."

Frankie nodded and rushed off, likely in the direction he expected a parent to be in, and Phil started a sedate walk to the shelter for the promised food and shade, trying to figure out how to tell Tony what he had done was inappropriate without making a big deal about it.

So far, he had nothing, because telling him he couldn't just say people had funny features left too many avenues for the dreaded _why_. Phil couldn't think of an answer except that he just shouldn't, which wouldn't solve anything.

They were some of the first ones to the lunch line, and Phil helped each of them make a plate that had a reasonable attempt at including all parts of the food pyramid, and almost jumped and spilled everything when Frankie returned. He sat them at one of the further picnic tables, where the shade was best, helped Bruce take his shot, (which totally enthralled Frankie, who had never seen it done before, and made the other three explain with their limited understanding,) told them to stay put while he got their drinks, and returned to a discussion about the Avengers and their various missions.

He spent most of the lunch telling them to keep eating, and to not talk with their mouths full, and subtly correcting or adding details. (If they were going to tell stories, they might as well tell them right.)

After lunch, it was back to the bouncy house, which Phil really didn't think was a good idea, but try telling that to four kids. Frankie turned into their guide, having been to these picnics before, and showed them where there was a clown making balloon animals and where a lawn-mower was giving train rides all through the park. Soon there was a balloon poodle, funny hat, four swords, teddy bear, bunny, and swan made for the group.

Phil shouldn't have let them get so many, because he had a feeling he knew who'd be carrying most of them.

Frankie said (and was confirmed by the posted schedule) that the gaming area would open soon. In the meantime, the four of them decided to play in the playground, fencing with their swords while Phil sat on a bench with the other balloons and posted pictures to Facebook. (It'd be the easiest way to make sure the others got the pictures, because, yes, he Friend-ed Tony's little squad of trouble, because everyone was on Facebook now. [He helped Tony manage his own page and enforced the rules about what to share and not share.] Besides, Tony might accidentally delete the pictures if Phil let him touch the phone again.)

Since this was a picnic with many children running around, it was no surprise when other kids joined in their mock battle, some of them with the water guns given out by the organizers. Phil was forced to relinquish the ones he had taken earlier so the fight would be fair, but he sternly said he take them away if they shot him or anyone who wasn't playing. (He was pleased to note the Avengers pulled together. They might not win the day, but they had fun doing it, and were joined by two boys Frankie had clearly known and dragged in to help even the sides.) There was a lot of running to the water fountain for refueling.

The battle eventually ended because of exhaustion and heat, at least for Tony and his friends, and they trudged over to collapse by Phil. The two boys Frankie had found followed, laughing. Tony crawled up next to Phil and leaned heavily against him, which was disgusting, because he was damp from sweat and from not being able to avoid getting hit. Phil handed out several water bottles, which had already been filled several times today, to those who were wanted one.

"That's Thor and Loki," Tony said to him, when he asked for the two boys' names. "They're brothers."

Phil decided to accept Tony's words, although the boys didn't look like it at all, because the two boys didn't correct him. "Nice to meet you. And what do your parents call you?"

Rounder than his brother and the other kids, it turned out Thor was really named Mortimer but went by Mort, and Loki was Lucas. Phil paid half-an-ear to the general introductions, distracted because there were texts from his friends he had missed while using the phone as a camera (and one or two from his mother), though he listened enough to learn Mort and Lucas were here legally, actually a child of an employee like Frankie, and the only true connection between Frankie and the brothers was that last year they went trick-or-treating together. They went to the smaller elementary school in the district and lived outside of town on a huge chunk of land, and that they had alpacas, goats, and horses. (As such, they had been greatly unimpressed by the ponies and told very details accounts of their personal mounts and how to care for them. Anita was very interested.)

"Phil, I have to go to the bathroom," Tony said, over the continued report.

Phil nodded and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Does anyone else have to go?" There were some faces of serious consideration, but, in the end, only Tony really had to go. (Phil figured he'd have to escort another group in fifteen minutes.) "All right, I want you all to stay _right here_."

The three new children gave him a look that clearly said, _why should we listen to you?_ However, they weren't Phil's responsibility, so he let it slide; Bruce and Anita accepted Phil's orders with a nod, the former more readily than the latter. Satisfied, Phil escorted Tony to the bathroom.

"Getting tired?" he asked as they neared, because Tony was remarkably quiet.

"No." Tony absently grabbed his hand, a sure sign he was unsettled about something.

"Are you having fun?"

"Yeah! I wish the bouncy house was here all the time! And that you could come in, too. That's not fair you couldn't, it's really fun."

Phil smiled at Tony's sense of injustice. "I know they are. Maybe I can sneak in later." It'd be nice, but he understood why he shouldn't. He was much bigger than all the little very uncoordinated kids and they'd probably fall right where he was going to land.

Tony beamed at the idea and rocked on his heels while they waited in line.

"You didn't really like the ponies, did you?"

There was a flash of panic. "Don't tell anyone, Phil! Don't tell Bruce or Anita."

"I won't. But it's okay if you didn't."

"They're just so big and … and they walk funny and they're itchy and they smell. It's not like the carousel." His tone sounded like this a crime against him and he didn't like it at all.

"No, I guess not." There was a giant indoor carousel at one of the gaming centers. Tony always tried to ride the purple and silver horse, while Phil either stood next to him or, lately, chose a clever sea horse, and Tony instigated spirited races.

"But everyone else likes them," Tony finished. "Like Bruce and Anita."

"They're not going to make fun of you if you don't like them. They're not going to stop being your friends either," he added.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He was quiet and played with Phil's fingers. It took an eternity – measured by Phil's Tony scale, which was rather skewed when compared to conventional measurements of time – for the next words. "Mort and Lucas have horses."

It was making sense, a little, and Phil saw the worry that his new friends would abandon him – too many experiences of changing playmates for something better – and he'd be left alone. He should have seen it earlier, Tony's tendency to show off the pool and large TV and other tempting things he owed or had access too, but, well, _everyone_ did stuff like that. Typical showing off and introductions, but leave Tony to add his own brand of problems to it. "That doesn't mean they like them better than you. I promise you, Anita and Bruce will see you a lot sooner than they'll see Mort and Lucas' horses, and they'll have more fun."

"Really?"

Phil nodded. "You're much more … versatile than a horse. And, well –" here, Phil hesitated, because he wasn't quite sure he wanted to encourage this kind of thinking, but ultimately he decided Tony's self-esteem needed the boost – "you're Iron Man, aren't you? Who wouldn't want to be friends with Iron Man?"

A grin broke out on Iron Man's face.

"Now, there's a stall free. You better get it. You have games and prizes to win."

Tony did so and once he had finished and washed his hands, dove upon Phil with his arms up, and his brother obliged by catching and swinging him up with a grunt. "You're getting heavy."

"Not as fat as you," Tony shot back.

Phil responded by tipping the brat upside and calmly returning to the group of kids as Tony screeched and laughed. When he was set down, his face was probably as red as the face paint.

"I wanna turn!" Frankie said. "Me, next!"

So Phil spent a few minutes dipping each of them upside down – Mort was a bit of work – and swinging them only as much as their enjoyment would allow. It meant Bruce only swayed only for a minute, Frankie went in huge arcs, Lucas wanted to walk on his hands once he realized he could and Phil would let him, Mort went a few swings that were less extreme than Frankie's, and Anita pretended he wasn't going high enough but he understood the message when she suddenly became concerned about her skirt flying up and showing everyone her Rapunzel underwear. (Phil didn't bother reminding her about the bouncy house.) Once everyone had a turn, he panted a little and pointed, "Look what's started." And fucking _thank god_! He wasn't kidding when he said Tony was getting heavy. His back was killing him, he just wanted to sit back down on the bench with the balloon animals.

And sit down he did, and soon had to awe at the numerous little toys he was shown. There were small mercies that it hadn't been Tony who had won the harmonica, he accepted the bracelets Anita gave him, and succeeded after a very long time to teach Lucas how to use the yo-yo. (Lucas could now walk the dog. Phil would have taught more, but he decided Round the World was a bad idea. Lucas was still happy he knew one cool trick, and spent a bit of time trying one of the other tricks Phil had showed him. [Phil had afterwards spent time untangling the knotted string.])

His phone alarm chirped, and Phil texted Anita's father. The man usually showed up within a half an hour if he didn't text he was going to be late. Phil wouldn't tell Anita he was coming, because he had learned it usually ruined the fun mood.

Since there was no text, Anita's father found them in about the time he was expected. Phil reported on the day, a flash of worry hitting him in case the adult wouldn't approve of being where they weren't invited. However, aside from a long look that managed to radiate something that wasn't really negative but made Phil feel like he'd given the wrong answer aloud in class – worse, a stupid and obviously wrong answer – Anita's father said, "It sounds like everyone had fun."

"Yes. How was work?" he asked, determined for a different topic. Anita's father worked at the newspaper, which was all Phil knew. Her mother worked as an accountant.

"It was fine. Long."

That would be the extent of the conversation, Phil had learned. The elder was a man of few words. Fortunately, Anita had noticed her father and rushed over to show him her prizes, and then her balloon bunny and sword, and pointed at her face.

"It's very pretty," her father laughed and was pulled to watch her play. The others also vied for his attention, and he ruffled Frankie's hair after he was treated to a harmonica solo that made Phil's teeth buzz. However, it was not too long that Anita's things were gathered and she said good-bye to Phil.

Phil watched as they left as Anita pointed to the pony pen and didn't withhold a grin as they headed that way instead of the parking lot. After he lost sight of them in the crowds of people, he stood and went to the tables. Bruce understood the motion while Tony focused on table of jars in front of him, both to make his shot count as well to ignore Phil.

"It's time to go home, Tony."

"What? No," Frankie protested, while Mort and Lucas looked up from the prize table. "It's early."

Actually, Phil thought it was time most of the people were started to leave, and the prizes were looking a little slim.

"Can't you teach me another trick first?" Lucas asked, holding up the yo-yo.

"Maybe next time, Lucas," Phil said absently, bending down to Tony. "Tony."

"I'm playing."

"Make your throw, because then we're leaving."

The boys all looked disappointed. Clearly they had had more fun than Phil thought.

"But you didn't bounce in the bouncy house with me," Tony said.

"Tony, the house is getting deflated." Indeed, it was collapsing in on itself. "It's all right, I don't mind."

"But I wanted to," he mumbled, rolling the ball between his hands.

"I know. Make your shot."

Of course Tony hemmed and hawed, trying to make the moment last, but he had no choice but to eventually throw the ping-pong ball. It bounced around the lids of the jars before finally settling inside one.

"Good job," he said as the attendant reach to get the jar and prize. This had been one of the tabled the kids hadn't gotten to pick a prize, having to actually had to win something by luck. The prizes were about as cheap as the ones on the table, but some of them were actually worth the surprise. Earlier, Bruce had won a fifty-cent piece, which he had never seen before.

Tony wasn't eager from the prize, but he went over the woman running the table as Phil gathered up everything. And then whirled around when Tony screeched his name.

"Look what I won, Phil!"

Phil very nearly swore once he had seen what was in the clear container.

A goldfish. A goddamn goldfish all four boys were examining and exclaiming about. Phil glared at the woman, who shrugged, unrepentant.

After a very deep breath, he smiled. "Congratulations. What's its name?" He had to prepare a tombstone, because looking at the half-cooked thing, yeah, it wasn't long for the world.

"Jarvis."

And Phil would just pretend he didn't know why it had been named that. "All right. Let's go, you two. It was nice to meet you, Frankie, Mort, Lucas."

It took several more hints before any of them moved, still enthralled with the fish and Tony's luck. In fact, the others remained with them as they started towards Bruce's house, passing the fish between each of them. "Okay, it's time to go back to your parents," Phil said forcefully.

Mort passed the fish back to Tony. "It was nice playing with you."

"You can come to my house. I have a pool," Tony said.

"A big one?"

Phil cut in. "It's late. But maybe if you come back the park, all of you can play together again."

"We come here like every day," Tony said, "and Bruce lives right across the street."

"Uh huh," Bruce supported. "And Anita always comes, too."

"And Phil takes us for ice cream and places all the time."

"No, I don't." He managed to get Tony's hand. "It was nice meeting you."

It was still some work to extract them, but finally, _finally_ they were at Bruce's house, and Bruce rushed in. His mother was busy at the computer – Phil didn't know what she did, but she almost always there when they came back – and she turned and hugged Bruce, laughing at his face.

"I see you had fun."

"And look! I got a balloon hat!" He ran back to get the object from Phil and put it snuggly on his head. "And look what I won, too! Phil, show her!"

"And look what _I_ won! His name's Jarvis!"

Bruce's mom was held hostage for the time being, and Phil slipped away to the bathroom and then to get a glass of ice water. They stayed for about forty minutes, basking in air conditioning, though when both boys started rubbing their eyes, Phil took the cue. Tony made a small protest, but said good-bye and, when Phil picked him up once they were outside, leaned heavily against Phil's chest, Jarvis cradled protectively between them.

"Did you have fun?" he murmured.

"Uh-huh," Tony yawned, and then he was crashing, fighting sleep and barely winning. Phil turned double-agent and rubbed his back, helping the other side win.

By the time they were home, Tony was drooling, and Phil tucked him in after getting the face paint off and the pajamas on. Prizes and balloon animals stacked up, he last took the fish. It looked a little better, he supposed, before he shook his head and filled one of the larger glass bowls his mother used to decoratively hold small glass beads, stones, or shells, depending on the room. He set the bowl up on stand next to Tony's bed, and carefully introduced the fish into the water. It swam around a little.

"You better live," he muttered, before cleaning his own face off and collapsing in front of the TV. Phil fell asleep before he was aware he was tired.

When he woke, his parents were home.

"You didn't answer my texts," his mother said when he got up to get something to eat.

"Busy," he grunted.

"I'm sure you were, sitting on the couch all day."

He rolled his eyes when she couldn't see. "If it was important, you should have called me." It hadn't been important.

"Philip Lindsay, don't take that tone with your mother."

Great, it was going to be one of those times when his parents were going to pretend they were friends. They always did when they wanted Phil to do something, for as long as he could remember. It was the only time they really cooperated. He slouched against the counter and crossed his arms, waiting.

"Philip, you're almost seventeen."

Well, they got his age right. He wondered if they used a calendar and calculator.

"Have you given any thought about your future?"

Yes, he had. Loads. He had colleges picked out already, the requirements he'd need for each one mapped out, who'd he'd ask for references, possible essay topics, looked into scholarships. He had even talked with a guidance counselor. True, he didn't know what he wanted to _do_, but he'd thought about. However, Phil shrugged and said mutinously, "I got two years before I graduate."

His father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You have to start preparing now, Philip. You have to think about what looks good on an application. You're not involved in anything anymore."

One, Tony, and two, wrong anyway. He just wasn't involved in baseball. Phil glowered. "I get good grades."

"You need more. Connie's daughter …."

Phil tuned them out, especially when they started arguing about what he'd need and then where'd he go and what he was even going to do.

"Philip! Are you listening?"

"Yes," he said. "Look, I'll join some clubs."

"You can volunteer at the hospital," his father said.

"_No_." Yeah, as the hospital director's son, he wasn't walking into that. "Look, I promise I'll do stuff, I swear. Jeez. Night."

"Philip!"

"Night!" And he escaped, barely. His parents were such idiots, and he could still hear them arguing when he shut his bedroom door and collapsed into bed. That was worse than the awkward suppers they'd forced him to sit through.

He remembered when he was younger and they tried asking about his day, how the game went or about his friends, and he would correct them: the season was over, they moved last year. Then they'd get angry and not-yell at each other, and it was just easier to lie. Phil never volunteered information anymore. These days, if they had the dreaded Triple-F (Forced Family Fun), Tony at least diverted their attention from him. After all, Tony still believed they listened to him.

Phil never doubted they loved him. And he'd never say he didn't love them, but more often than not he really didn't like his parents very much. He hit his pillow and tried to shut his brain (and ears) off.

He must have succeeded, because the next thing he became aware of was Tony staring at him. After glancing at his clock and seeing it was too early for this crap, Phil groaned and pushed him away, rolling back over. "Go a'ay."

"I'm up on Facebook!"

"I know. I made your page," he mumbled.

"Everyone likes the pictures. Aunt Honni saw them, and Uncle Linny and Aunt Peggy, too!" He crawled up onto the bed and pushed Phil's shoulder. "You gotta tell me what they said!"

No, Phil was removing their relatives from Tony's list of friends. (It would really lessen his friends by like ninety percent.)

"Bruce's mom wrote something too, and so did Matt and Mark and Brad and –"

That got Phil to jerk up, and he reach for his phone as Tony complained at the treatment, loading his own Facebook page. And groaned at the wall of messages.

After reading the first few, Phil decided his friends were such douches.

(They would have been nice on Tony's page, at least if their comments were read by someone who didn't know them. Bastards.)

He groaned and looked at Tony. "Why are you up so early?" And wasn't that a stupid question, because Phil had put him to bed too damn early.

Tony shrugged and asked again if he'd look at his page. There was nothing for it but to take his laptop and load up the page, then reading every comment aloud for Tony's benefit. Once that was done and Phil's phone's alarm was going to go off anyway, Phil got up and started getting dressed.

"Can I help you deliver the papers?"

He sighed. "Why not?" Besides, if anyone decided they didn't have to pay this month, it helped if Tony had helped. Phil hadn't had a non-paying customer in four months – he was a bit of a legend that way among the other carriers, especially since when he first started this route, it seemed like nobody paid – and he wasn't ashamed to admit it was because of Tony.

"Yay!"

"Don't break my laptop! And you can only come if you get dressed."

Tony disappeared out of the room and was dressed by the time Phil was walking out of the bathroom. Hearing noise from down the hall, Phil quickly grabbed a banana and wrote a note to say he had Tony, ushering his brother outside before his parents could corner him. They'd probably try to continue last night's conversation.

He allowed Tony to get out of the car and put the papers on the stoop, neatly and very centered, and when they had finished, later than Phil would be when he did the route by himself, they went to Burger King for breakfast.

"Phil, Jarvis needs food too."

Phil barely stopped from asking if the fish was still alive, because he was sure if it had died, this morning would not have been nearly as pleasant. "Okay, we'll get some at Wal-Mart."

Getting fish food involved walking out with the food, a ten-gallon aquarium kit, a bag of gravel, and three decorations, but what was important was that didn't involve walking out with another fish. Tony had had his face pressed against the glass, often urging Phil to see, while Phil tried to figure out what a fish actually needed and what was just crap people wasted money on. (In his opinion, there was a lot people just wasted money on for a stupid fish, up to and including the fish itself.)

And if Jarvis was dead when they got home … Phil made sure to keep the receipt.

They spent the morning setting up the aquarium, and once done, Tony pressed his face against the glass to watch Jarvis swim. And then they took some pictures and put them up on Facebook, too, because Tony wanted everyone to know about Jarvis. And then Phil let Tony call Bruce, because today they were staying home, and listened to one-side of the conversation as he rested on the couch.

When his phone rang, he didn't look at the screen to determine the caller, because that would have involved opening his eyes. "Hey, this is, Phil."

It was Anita's father, and _that_ made him open his eyes. Watching Anita this weekend was only supposed to be a one-day thing. His heart rate slowed when it was clear he wasn't being called for an emergency job. In fact, it took his brain a bit to understand what was being asked.

"Uh, sure, you can give them my number, I guess," he said, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"I just wanted to be sure," the man said. "I didn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position of having to say no."

Phil smiled. "Thanks. It's all right, I have to watch Tony anyway and it's better if it's not just us all the time. But I can't pick anyone up or drop them off. I can't, what with the law," he explained quickly. (To be honest, he sort of skirted that with Tony a bit before his probationary period was completely up, but jeez, rock and hard place, sometimes.) "I can have one other person other than Tony, and I've got a spare booster seat, but that's all, and my car isn't that big anyway."

"I understand."

"And," Phil paused, taking a deep breath for courage, "I don't care if it's a visit for a couple hours once a week or so, that's all right and Tony'll like it, but I can't – won't have them over all the time if I'm not getting paid. Nothing much, but … I just can't." Between the ice cream and the snacks, he'd be broke in a week, and it wasn't fair if he didn't get something about of it.

Again, the answer was, "I understand." And it didn't sound judging.

He couldn't help himself. "I … um, really didn't think you knew their parents."

Anita's father chuckled. "Mariah and Lucy, Frankie's mom, are class moms, and Gordon does a fair bit of advertising for his place. If he hadn't caught me by the ponies looking for his boys so they could go home, he wouldn't have known who they were asking about."

"I see. Well, anyway, it's all right. If they're that desperate for a sitter, I'll do it. They can't be much worse than Tony."

That earned an outright laugh. "Have a good day, Phil."

"You, too." He ended the call and turned to look at Tony, still talking on the phone with Bruce.

Huh.

Well, no reason to get Tony's hopes up. They might not, once Anita's father told them Phil's requirements. He did mean what he said. If it was one or two visits, no problem, but watching them more than that was work and it deserved to be treated as such.

He got the phone call from Frankie's mom after his father came home, and Phil disappeared into his room to take it. (Tony was a good distraction.) On a clean sheet of paper, he carefully took notes as she answered each of his questions, and they set a tentative trial period, because Phil forced himself to verbalize Tony came first. If there was a problem, she had to know which way he'd sway, just in case there were doubts.

Mort and Lucas' father called later in the day – during supper, in fact, and Phil grasped at the excuse to leave the table before either parent could think about scolding him – and the process was repeated with a few more numbers to call if something went wrong. (It turned out the brothers were a regular Phineas and Ferb act, except in this case the missing parents were around. Not very active or even in the same state, but Phil was that thorough.)

Once the call was done, the phone numbers given to him were programmed into his phone under appropriate headings, and unable to help himself, Phil did some quick math on another sheet of paper. And then he circled the sum.

Yeah, he wasn't even making minimum wage, but wow. He could work with this. It was more than his paper route, and he had a good route.

Tomorrow, Tony was in for a big surprise, and he went back to the table to nod vaguely at the scolding that turned into a mutual blame-fest about who was more responsible. Then it change into silence no one either wanted to break (Phil), felt needed to be broken (Tony), or knew how to break it without making everything loud again (their parents).

Monday morning had Phil up at his usual time, and he made pancakes when he got back, because this was going to be a good day for Tony and Phil needed comfort food because, yeah, he agreed, what had he been thinking? (Oh yeah, dollar signs.)

But he did have to deal with the awkward not-talk with his father, who seemed to have been willing to run a little late staying a full ten minutes after Phil got back instead of rushing for the door. Whatever. If he wasn't going to talk, neither was Phil, because he wasn't Tony and could completely handle silence.

(He was relieved when his father finally left, because, jeez, really? What the hell, huh?)

When Tony came downstairs after Phil had gotten him up, his eyes widened at the plate of cut pancakes already set up for him, and he levitated to his seat. There was a small cup of warmed syrup next to it, and Tony dumped it artlessly and started to eat messily.

"Did you feed Jarvis?"

"Yep. He was hungry."

"Because it was time for breakfast." He glanced at the clock nervously, stomach flipping, and barely paid attention to Tony eat. And then ….

…. The doorbell rang.

Tony raised his head. "Is that Anita?"

"No, she doesn't come until nine. Keep eating."

One cool breath at the door before he opened it, smiling politely. Mort and Lucas were there with their mother. "Good morning. Come in."

The boys did so, a little timidly, and Phil spoke with their mother a bit, verifying pick-up time and that it was okay to take them to the park even though it had been discussed the day before with her husband. (With parents that found fights like some people found dirt, Phil preferred the verification.) Then he gave a tentative plan of the day, before good-byes were exchanged.

Mort and Lucas watched her go away before turning their attention to him. Phil had another momentary flash of panic, but he squashed it and guided them towards the kitchen. "Let's go see Tony."

It would be impossible to describe Tony's face at seeing the two boys there. Disbelief and the euphoria and syrup would be as close as Phil'd get. "Do you want pancakes?" he offered, holding out a piece on his fork.

Even though they should have had breakfast before coming – Phil had made that a rule – the boys nodded and crawled up seats, looking at Phil like he was a waiter. Whatever. He made up two more plates and gave them over, keeping his smile hidden as Tony started up talking, still awed they were here.

"Do you want to see Jarvis? Phil got me a big aquarium and everything!" he asked once all the pancakes were gone and Phil was cleaning up.

"Go wash your faces and hands first. Then, Tony, show them around."

"Okay! Come on."

The rest of the morning passed in a bit of a blur, especially once Anita's mother arrived with Anita and Frankie. Tony was almost in shock his new friends were here, desperate to show them everything and make his idea of a good impression. Phil had sat the three new boys down and talked Rules of the House, which included no going by the pool, no throwing things inside, no yelling, putting things away, and listening to him. (He doubted any of them were listening very well.) There was some play and TV.

Then they had lunch, simple cold sandwiches, before it was time to go to the park. And _that_ had been an exhibition. Shit, couldn't they just walk beside him? Phil had never yelled more in a five block walk, and he make this walk with _Tony_. And what was so bad about holding hands to cross the street? No, he was not treating them like babies, but damnit, they were holding hands when they were crossing the street until he could trust them not to get themselves killed.

He was in charge, and he refused to feel like a dork standing at the first intersection for the five minutes it took to get everyone to do what he wanted. The next intersections when faster.

Bruce's face had almost the same comical expression Tony's had had.

In the park, everyone was about to run off until Phil stopped them. "Rules!"

Lucas and Frankie groaned, and he heard Mort mutter to Tony, "Your brother has a lot of rules." Tony didn't know what to say to that, whether to agree or defend or wonder if that was bad because it had always been that way for him, so he stayed quiet.

Even though Anita and Bruce knew the rules, it couldn't hurt for them to hear them again. "All right, you stay in the main park areas. Do _not_ go on the trails. You do not climb the trees or the buildings. There will be no fighting. You cannot play hide 'n' seek. Don't talk to strangers. Tell me if you need to go to the bathroom or if something happens. Do _not_ swim in the fountain or dive for the coins. Don't do anything stupid." He would probably to make more rules, but he hoped that last rule covered a lot of ground. "Any questions?"

"Can we play?"

Phil honestly wasn't sure if Frankie was being a sarcastic little shit. However, he nodded, "I'll be over there if you need me."

And they took off, as if making a prison break, and Phil tossed his bag onto his picnic table and sat down, already exhausted.

He watched them play, occasionally having to get up and stop something stupid, like sliding down the slide standing up or swinging the swing all the way over the support to make the chains shorter or jumping down from the top of monkey bars. More than once he had to herd them back to appropriate locations. But, ultimately, it wasn't that bad, and between crises Phil amused himself by surfing the web on his phone. (This was less time than he'd like, because, seriously, couldn't he sit for five minutes?)

Focused on the kids, he jumped when a hand was set on his shoulder. "Jeez, Phil, relax man, it's just us," Walter laughed.

"Oh, hey. What's up?"

"Nothing. _Loved_ the pictures, by the way. You were so pretty."

"Fuck you."

Sitting on the table, Vivian asked, "What pictures?"

"Don't you dare," Phil started, but he didn't move when Walter took out his phone and loaded up said pictures.

Vivian smiled as she paged through the pictures, but she didn't make fun. "Looks like you had fun."

"It was," Phil said honestly, and then waved at the kids. "And Tony made a few more friends."

"What the fuck, Phil?" Walter asked, shaking his head. "It was bad enough when it was just the two. Hell, it's bad enough when it's just Tony."

"I'm getting paid," he said.

Walter laughed again. "Paid? You joining the Babysitters' Club? Can I see your badge? Or maybe you're Phil, the Supernanny. You can be your own reality TV show."

"I repeat: fuck you."

"Or maybe that's your super-power. You need a cape."

"No capes."

"Hey, don't knock sitting. It's work," Vivian supported, but Phil could tell she was also mocking him, just a little, because he was a guy doing it. She shouldn't, because she only managed one afternoon with Tony two years ago.

"Sure it is, babe," Walter smiled.

The three friends sat and spoke for a bit, until there was a pained yelp, and Phil looked up to see Anita on the ground and the others looking at her, dumb. He got up quickly and went to her.

"Ooh, that's a good one," he murmured, looking at her knees and hands, and numerous trickles of blood.

"It hurts," she whimpered.

"I can tell." He carefully scooped her up. "Let's go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up, all right? And I got a whole bunch of new band-aids you can pick from."

"No stingy stuff," she said, sniffing.

"Sorry, gotta have stingy stuff." It was about then everyone started asking if she was all right, and Phil waylaid their fears. Since he was going that way, he also asked if anyone had to go to the bathroom, and Bruce said he did. They went back to the table.

"Oh, ouch," Vivian said sympathetically, while Walter purposefully looked away from the blood.

"Just a little. Bruce, can you get my bag, thanks. And could you guys just watch them, please? I'll only be like ten minutes."

Walter sighed. "Fine, we'll do your job for you, slacker. Go play Doctor."

"Thanks. Come on, guys."

He led them to the bathrooms, where Anita protested she couldn't go into the boys' because she was a girl. Phil countered, asking if she wasn't curious to see what the difference was, and Anita agreed.

She was disappointed it was the same as the girls, except for the urinals, which Phil explained and told Bruce he was not demonstrating, go to a stall. And he started cleaning her hands and knees, while she took deep breathes and sniffed a little.

"Wash your hands, Bruce," he said absently when Bruce finished what he came for.

"Boys are disgusting," Anita said.

Phil's lips quirked. "Remember that. Okay, time for the stingy stuff."

Even prepared, a little squeak escaped, and he blew on the wounds to get rid of the sting. "Why does it hurt?" Bruce asked.

"Because it's killing the bad germs who are holding the good guys hostage, which right now is Anita. All better?"

"Yeah."

"Time for the important part. Bruce, if you'll do the honors," Phil smiled, still holding a bit of tissue to one cut that was a bit bigger than the rest.

Bruce got out six boxes (the seventh, which was the plain type, stayed in the bag) – they went through so many band-aids, it wasn't funny – and Anita looked them over. One box was decidedly catered towards girls, with Disney Princesses, but Phil figured the others were of characters a girl would like. (Then again, what did he know? Honestly, he bought the others with the main consideration of what he would wear if _he_ needed one.) She picked Donald Duck, Belle, rainbows, and Skipper to protect her wounds, and Phil let Bruce put on Bumblebee for being such a good helper. (So maybe there was a reason they went through so many band-aids.)

"There, all better," Phil grinned once all the body tissues were disposed off and the mess cleaned up. "Think you can walk back?"

Whatever she thought, it was clear Anita preferred to be carried, and he did so, while Bruce followed, examining his band-aid with pleasure. The walk back was pleasant, but as they neared their area, Phil felt himself frown.

To be cliché, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Yeah. Umm, where were his kids?

"Where'd everyone go?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know." He would not panic, but he would _kill_ the making out couple. Phil set Anita down next to Bruce before walking up to his distracted friends. "Where. Are. They?"

They separated like an electric shock.

"Where are they?" Phil repeated as they made babbly noises at him, and then pointed at the empty area of green by the play set to clarify himself.

"Oh, shit," Walter said eloquently.

"Phil, we didn't—"

"Just help me find them," he growled, and the couple went off in one direction. Phil almost yelled at them to split up so they'd have less distractions.

"They were kissing," Anita said helpfully when he took her and Bruce's hands.

"Yes they were," Phil agreed, eyes scanning every corner of green.

"Yucky," Bruce said, making a face.

"You're yucky," Anita countered.

"Anita," Phil warned, not quite in the mood for it at the moment. He let out a huff of air. "Do either of you have any idea where your posse would have ran off to?" They shook their heads. "Great."

Phil didn't want to acknowledge it, but he was getting more worried the longer he looked and the less park there was left to check. At least, park that he _hadn't strictly forbidden_. But he had to stay calm, don't panic. Panic never solved anything, and it'd just panic Bruce and Anita.

"I really, really don't like hide and seek," he tried joking.

"Is that why we can't play it?" Bruce asked.

"Yes."

"My sister loves that game. I always win, she never finds me," Anita said proudly.

"I'll just bet."

There was some more terse conversation before he heard his phone ring. He left go of their hands and answered it. "Did you find them?"

"Phil, we're so sorry," Walter started, panicking.

"Where are you?"

"At the start of the track. Shit, Phil, I think his arm's broke!"

He took Bruce's hand and told Anita to take his, and started a very fast walk. "Who? Which one?"

"Um … wait … what's his name … Mort. Mort. He fell from the tree. They were climbing it and we shouldn't have, but we yelled and he got startled and he fell, and Phil, what do we do?"

"I see you," he said and hung up, speeding up his walk enough until he was close enough to let go of Bruce's hand and rush to the group. The kids were huddled, staring at Vivian as she tried to comfort a crying Mort, while Walter paced.

"Phil! What—"

"Get your car. Now."

He went next to Vivian and Mort, at a loss. "What happened?"

"They were climbing this tree. We just saw them and we weren't thinking, just yelled at them to get down, and he slipped or something," she said, a little calmer than Walter. "He won't move his arm, let me see it. Where's Walt?"

"Getting his car."

"Oh. Good idea. Phil, I'm so sorry, we didn't—"

"Not now, Viv. Just not now."

"Right."

Phil tried talking to Mort, to gauge his injury, but the boy refused to help. However, Phil managed to get him to hold an ice pack from the first aid kit to it by the time Walter returned, as well as clean up a bit of the blood.

"Now what, Phil?" he gasped.

"Vivian's driving me to the ER. You're taking the kids back to my house." He handed the house key over.

"Why is she driving?"

"Because she doesn't pass out at blood!" Phil snapped, picking Mort up as gently as he could. "And you actually know where I live!"

"Oh, right."

Vivian got in the driver's seat while Phil awkwardly opened the other door, which was enough to galvanize the kids.

"Where are you going?" Lucas asked, panicked.

"We're going to the hospital to make sure your brother is okay."

"I want to come too!"

"No! You're going back to my house and you are going to _listen_ to Walter like you should have listened to _me_!"

"Phil," Tony whimpered.

Phil gritted his teeth for patience and volume control as he got into the seat, still cradling the injured boy. "Not now."

"He's not going to _die_, is he?" Frankie asked in a rush.

Mort's sobs, which had been quieter, hitched with panic. "No," Phil said, "but we need to go to the hospital now. Back away from the car."

They did so, and Vivian took off as soon as the door was shut.

"I don't want to die!" Mort whimpered.

"You're not going to die," Phil said quietly, rubbing his back.

"It _hurts_!"

"I know."

Phil couldn't recall much of the ride, focused on Mort as he was, but he rushed into the ER and tried to get out what had happened. Mort clung to him, still sniffing, and it wasn't until Phil was trying to answer the paperwork's questions that he realized he had to call the boy's parents.

His stomach, which was calming now that he was with professionals who knew what they were doing, plummeted. He hadn't even had their son a day and his arm was broken!

Carefully, he pried Mort off him and to Vivian, whispering he had to call Mort's father, and stood in the corner of the exam room facing the wall while his shaking fingers found the right number from his contact list.

It was ringing.

What if no one answered?

What was he going to say? What was he going to say?

It was rin—it was answered.

"Hello?"

Phil licked his lips. "Mr. Ronin? This is Phil. Everything's … umm … we're at the ER. Mort fell from a tree. We think his arm's broken."

There was silence.

"I'll be right there."

Phil stared at his phone once the call disconnected, then leaned his head against the wall. He was so dead.

Back by Vivian and Mort, he took the boy back in his lap and reported Mort's father would be there soon, which made Mort happy, at least. However, they were called to X-Ray. Vivian said she'd wait out in the waiting room for the father.

Phil helped Mort through the X-Ray as much as he could with the help of the technicians, and then it was back to the exam room. He hadn't been sitting too long before the door was knocked on, and a nurse escorted Mort's father in.

"Mort."

"Daddy!"

Phil let the transfer happen and then stood back was the pair spoke, trying to determine the elder's mood. He still hadn't figured out by the time the two stopped talking and Mort's father looked at him.

He swallowed dryly. "I'm sorry."

"From what I heard, it's not your fault," the man said calmly.

Phil blinked. It wasn't more calmly than he imagined it'd be, because he saw a lot of movies where the voice was calm and then everyone was dead. "I don't …."

"The girl outside, your friend. She told me what happened."

Vivian didn't have to do that (except she totally did, because it was her and Walter's fault too). Phil wasn't sure what to say, so he leaned against the wall, sort of exhausted, and closed his eyes.

"These things happen, kid."

"What?" Phil looked up, confused.

"It happens. Don't beat yourself up too much for something you can't control. And someone else is at fault, too, for running off." His voice was firm and scolding as he turned to his son. Lucas would probably get read the riot act harder.

"We just wanted to play," Mort sniffed.

"I'm sure Phil told you to stay where he could see you, didn't he? Your mother and I told you two to listen to him."

Mort mumbled something Phil didn't catch but the father did.

"And breaking your arm is smart?"

Even Phil jumped at that tone.

The boy was silent except for sniffs, and they stayed quiet until the doctor came in with the X-rays. Definitely broken, and a splint was going to have to be put on.

"Doesn't he need a cast?" Phil asked stupidly, then flushed when everyone looked at him.

"We have to wait until the swelling goes down a bit, but yes, Mort will have a cast for about six to eight weeks," the doctor said. He then carefully put the splint on, talking to Mort's father, but Phil watched and listened. Afterwards, the doctor said the nurse would come in with a prescription for a painkiller and more information, and to make an appointment to see the pediatric orthopedic surgeon in a day or two.

Mort's father thanked him, and the doctor said good-bye to all of them before leaving. And then they were alone, until the nurse came and went through some more things that Phil tried to listen to.

And then they could leave, and Phil looked around for Vivian.

"I told her to go help your friend," Mr. Ronin said.

How was he supposed to get home? Wait until Dad got out?

"I'll take you home."

Oh. He was an idiot. "Thanks."

Mr. Ronin had a pick-up trunk they all piled in. First they stopped at the pharmacy to drop off Mort's prescription, and Phil managed to suggest they could wait for it. Mort looked uncomfortable.

"He'll be fine. It'll be ready by the time I have to drive back through anyway. He'd have to wait either way."

They got to Phil's house, and the door was open even before they were out of the trunk, Lucas leading the pack.

"He's fine, just a bit banged up. Lucky the rest of you aren't," the father said. "Get in the truck, Lucas."

Lucas seemed to realize this was a calm before the storm, but he said good-bye to everyone and climbed in without complaint. Phil watched the truck go down the road before turning to the kids, Vivian, and Walter.

"Thanks for watching them."

"Hey, um, no problem," Walter said. "We watched TV."

"Good. Let's get inside. You guys can go now."

"Phil," Vivian started.

"I'm not mad. I'm just tired, okay," he said. "Just, please go."

His two friends looked at him before nodding and leaving. Phil went inside and looked at the four kids, tried to smile, and instead collapsed on the couch.

"Mort's going to be all right, right?" Frankie asked.

Bruce interjected, "He went to the hospital. Hospitals are where you get better."

"He'll be fine. Let's just watch TV, okay."

Surprisingly, everyone listened, and if asked, Phil couldn't tell anyone what they watched. When his phone alarm went off, he texted Anita's father like always. And then, because he was just so tired, he called Bruce's mom and asked him to pick him up.

It wasn't long until each parent arrived, and because Phil always said what they did, he told each one what had happened. (He figured Anita's father would tell Frankie's parents.) Both of them didn't yell or blame him, and they left and it was just Tony and him.

They watched TV.

"Phil?" Tony's voice wobbled.

"Yes."

"I told them we shouldn't have go there, but they didn't listen. They said I was being a baby. And-and they said you were being stupid saying we couldn't climb trees, but I didn't wanna, and then they were all climbing and I didn't know where you were and then Mort fell and …."

"Hey, come here," Phil said, opening his arms when he realized Tony had totally been avoiding him all day and he had been the one to _see_ Mort fall.

Tony ran into him and started to cry.

"I'm not mad at you, okay. Well, I am, a little, but it's okay, all right?"

"I'm sorry!" he cried, hugging him tightly.

"It's not your fault."

"Yes it is. I should have said, no! I did, but they didn't listen. And then Mort fell and he yelled and there was a sound, and he was crying and I, I."

"Scary, huh?"

"You weren't there."

He hugged Tony for a bit, then said, "You know what we need to do."

"What?"

"We should go feed Jarvis and watch him swim around."

Tony thought about that then nodded. So Phil carried him upstairs and they fed Jarvis and watched him swim around, and then they fell asleep on Tony's bed.

(Just before Phil fell asleep, he thought, _wasn't it Loki who fell?_ Then he cursed Tony.)


	8. Captain America

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_Captain America Was Not a Film about a Man Who Had Lost Everything, But a Film About How Much He had Withstood and Gained to Show How Much He Would Lose. What Comes After Shows How Much He Gains Again_

Lucas and Mort didn't come back the following day, nor, it turned out, the rest of the week. Phil hadn't gotten any phone call saying they were coming back, but he could take a hint.

They stayed at the house during that time. Phil wasn't consciously punishing them or feeling scared, but he didn't take them to the park. He just didn't feel like it. Maybe they didn't either, because none of them asked.

It wasn't like there wasn't stuff to do, anyway. They colored and played in the backyard, and there was a lot of bad guys attacking the Avengers, and Anita even convinced the boys to play house. It was a strange version of house, with a robot baby and a zombie dog and an army of GI Joes that had to wipe their feet and drink tea, but she seemed okay with it.

And Phil did walk them to the library, because there had been a book day with a pirate narrator, and some things couldn't be missed.

However, the next week, Mort and Lucas returned, Mort with a blue fiberglass cast up to his elbow. The first thing they did had been to apologize to Phil, Mort offering to let him write on the cast – wherever there was space, because the boys had already been at it very thoroughly – and Phil said he would later. Then they went to show Tony.

Phil looked at their mother. "I didn't think you'd …." He trailed off, unsure if he wanted to say _bring them back_ or _trust me_.

She gave him a small smile. "We should have called you, to let you know. We just didn't want Mort here until the pain was better. And I – we know how our sons are. They saw an opening and took it, and, quite frankly, I'm relieved this is _all_ that happened."

He shuddered at the possibility it could have been worse.

"We talked to them, again, but you tell us if they give you more lip or problems. But we're glad you were there, Phil. Gordon was very impressed with how you handled yourself."

Phil made a face, still guilty. "It shouldn't have happened."

"But it did. Boys will be boys, and someone can break a bone even walking and then they trip and land just right. It just happens. And that reminds me, Mort has homework."

"What?"

She grinned. "Dr. Hudson says she won't remove the cast unless he can correctly name the bones he broke."

"Which ones were they?"

"The ulna and radius. Right now Mort thinks the cast is cool and doesn't want it removed, but eventually it'll happen. And I'm pretty sure Dr. Hudson will keep the cast on until he tells her what the bones are."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I got to get to work. Call if anything happens." Then she looked a little guilty, but still smiled. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Before she was completely gone, Phil called out, "Can he get the cast wet?"

"Yes. With this heat, I made sure to ask for that."

And then she left and Phil turned to look at the three boys, Tony already with a marker carefully adding to the artwork.

Once Frankie, Anita, and Bruce arrived and the cast was even more decorated, Phil asked what they wanted to do. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of requests for swimming, because, yeah, it'd been hot. The other three always came prepared – or, more correctly, left their preparedness here – and Phil looked at Lucas and Mort.

"Today, you can swim in your shorts, and when we're done, I'll stick them in the dryer, okay. But try to remember your bathing suits next time. Do you need arm floaties?" Frankie also used them, though if Phil was by him, he tried swimming without. Bruce and Tony still sort of sank like rocks without them.

Oh, you'd have thought he asked if they still drank from a bottle.

Once everyone was in their suits and the pools rules were told for Lucas and Mort's benefit, Phil let them go, sitting at the edge and just dangling his legs in. True, he kept a closer eye on Mort, who floundered a little with the cast, but all in all, he only had to yell about fifteen or fifty times for them to behave.

When lunch got nearer, he called them out of the pool, to many disappointments, but Phil turned on the sprinklers and let them run through it while he made lunch. The other four he trusted, (well, he trusted them _more_,) but he made absolutely positively sure Mort and Lucas understood they were _not_ allowed in the pool again while he was inside.

Everyone was wrapped into towels when they ate, and they spent the remainder of the day running in and out of the house until Phil managed to sit them all down in a circle a little before he'd have to text all the parents.

"All right, I have a very important question for all of you," he said, tapping the notepad in front of himself.

They all sat interested.

"I was wondering if there was anything any of you would like to do when you come here. Sometimes we go to the library and museum," he explained to Lucas and Mort, "as well as the park."

"Ice cream!" Tony piped up instantly, and then there was a chorus of repeats.

"Yes, we could even go for ice cream," Phil agreed once he got them to shut up. "This will just be like a once or twice-a-week thing, so we can do something different."

Frankie raised his hand and made oh-oh noises. "Can we do _anything_?"

"I still have to clear it with your parents," Phil warned, "and we have to be able to either walk or take the bus to get there."

"Oh."

Phil looked down at his list. "I thought of a few things. We could go see a movie, there will be some outdoor concerts coming up, there's going to the community theatre, they have a free crafts thing every few weeks, we have visit with the Veterans."

Some marveled at the list because there was so much. Most had no idea half of what he said.

"I want to see a movie!" Mort said, starting the wave of agreements.

Of course that one would be picked. Phil already had a program of the cheaper films that were playing.

"Can we go to the mall?" Frankie asked.

"No."

When they started complaining, he repeated himself.

"Can we go to the playland?" Bruce asked hopefully.

Phil thought about it while everyone else whispered excitedly and nodded with approval, and he thought about how difficult it would be to watch six kids as they ran around playing the arcade games, went into the tunnels and ball pits, and kept demanding more tokens. "Maybe," he said, while secretly thinking, _No way in hell_.

"Can we, maybe, order a pizza or Chinese?" Lucas asked, leaning forward.

All right, that was a weird request, and not really what the point of this was, but … he wouldn't have to cook and the kids seemed impressed by the suggestion. "It's a good idea. Maybe we'll even go out to someplace like McDonalds for lunch, and you guys can play in their play area."

"Can we go roller skating?" Anita suggested.

That was just asking for another broken arm. "I'll see if there's something nearby."

"The zoo!" Tony exclaimed.

The nearest zoo needed a car to get there. "Sorry, that's too far." Maybe he could just take Tony, though, when he saw Tony's face fall.

Bruce piped up again. "Maybe fishing?"

That was another winning topic, though Anita looked less thrilled.

They continued the tossing ideas, Phil writing them down and silently accepting and rejecting them. This was just an idea he'd had, because, quite frankly, it was getting sort of boring – if still very exhausting – watching everyone every single day doing almost the exact same thing. He didn't often join in their play, and since he started this, it sort of meant his social life, such as it ever had been, tanked. Thank God for Facebook and Twitter, so he at least knew what was going on in the world. There was no guarantee they would be even able to do any of this, but he still planned to type up the list, give each parent one, and have them circle ones they'd approve. Once he got that, he'd then sit down with a calendar and try to make it work.

Which was why, about fifteen minutes before he'd have to text anyone, he told them to get changed out of their suits – Lucas and Mort had long dried, as had everyone else – and typed up the list of his _acceptable_ activities. He was just printing up copies when Frankie and Anita had to leave.

He explained the list to Anita's father, carefully watching the man's face as he went down the list. Phil could already tell there were a few Anita wasn't going to be allowed to do.

"It's just an idea," Phil said.

"I'll let their mothers know."

Phil barely managed to keep from telling him to bring it back tomorrow, like it was _homework_.

He repeated the process with Mort and Lucas' father, and the only thing the man said was, "Ambitious. You're either a very brave young man, or a very stupid one, Phil."

"Both, I think." (But then, secretly, deep down, Phil thought maybe Tony had _trained _him for this sort of thing.)

When Bruce's mother came, she looked over the list and said everything was fine, so long as Phil thought he could handle it. He had only put down the ones he thought he could.

All of the lists did come back the next day, and he spent most of his free time – what was that, was it related to a unicorn? – and then most of his afternoon once everyone went home carefully setting up a calendar of activities. It went very late into the night, but the end result was something Phil was very pleased with. He even had a little asterisk by ones that would be cancelled if it rained, and some had alternative activities.

It wouldn't be set in stone, because with six brats and the weather and just life, that was impossible to expect. It was nice to see everything planned out, to know what he was going to put himself through, and he very proudly handed the calendars to the parents. (Except, of course, his own, because whatever. [He did sort of hang it up on the refrigerator. For Tony. Who couldn't read.])

(There was _nothing_ wrong about taking pride in a job well done, even if it was just a stupid calendar. But Phil wasn't sure if they were all laughing at him, impressed, or pleased.)

The first thing they did was easy, which was go to the movies. The theatre was playing last years' movies at a lower price, and kids got cheap popcorn and pop, and Phil was all for that. Everyone was wild for the idea, and he sat in the row behind them to keep an eye out. He needn't have bothered, because they were all enthralled except for the times their bladders distracted them.

Back at the house and after lunch, the driveway was chalked up with various pictures and scenes. There was a little scuffle about hogging space and colors, but nothing he couldn't handle.

So he considered the day a success when everyone was gone.

Therefore, they continued the schedule. True, most of the time they stayed at the house or went to the park, and sometimes the kids declined going (or were such little shits Phil decided he wasn't dealing with the additional stress). He liked taking them to the library for story-time the best, mostly because of the AC and free entertainment. One time there had been animals, and he'd pitied the poor things.

The kids liked it best were the simple excursions, he learned. The theatre, they hadn't liked. McDonalds and the playground, loved it. Music in the park, eh, not so much. Music blaring from the kitchen, better.

So, K.I.S.S.

Perhaps not in the correct vein, but it did have him dragging out the wagon and coolers, and digging through his father's storage area, and then going to Wal-Mart for some other supplies. Tony eagerly helped him set everything up, so that by the time everyone had arrived, they were ready to go.

Sunscreen – always sunscreen, Phil was buying bottles of the stuff – was applied to everyone, before he grinned. "Who wants to guess what we're doing today?"

Yeah, there was little guessing with a premade calendar and parents who had some of kids come prepared. "Fishing!"

"That's right," he nodded. "Who's fished before?"

He wasn't surprised Lucas and Mort – both arrived with their own reels – raised their hands, but he was, just a little, when Anita did.

"That's okay if you haven't. Fishing is really easy, and it's not about how many fish you catch."

"Yes it is!" Lucas yelled.

Mort agreed. "That's the point."

"No," Phil said. "Fishing is about enjoying it. If you're not having enjoying it, you're not really fishing. You're just putting a hook in the water waiting for a fish to bite it."

They mulled over that sage bit of wisdom.

"It is a little far to get to the river," he warned, "but not too far. First, does anyone have to go to the bathroom?" (Always, always, _always_ ask this. Twice, even.)

That done and wagon loaded up, they started up on their buddy system Phil had devised for their walks. He didn't care who they paired up with, but the rule was they had to stick together. He pulled the wagon with their supplies, his iPod blaring music.

It took over a half an hour to get the bend in the river off the smaller waterside park Phil had scoped out, and everyone was more hot than exhausted. They sat in the shade drinking the bottled water and Gatorade until everyone felt they could move.

"Okay, this where we're going to fish."

"We're not going to be in a boat?" Bruce asked.

"Sorry, no."

"But how do we catch fish? They're not up here!" Frankie asked.

Phil smiled. "Well, maybe we'll get lucky." (Honestly, he had little belief they'd catch anything.) "You can only go into the water up to here," he said, indicating about mid-calf. "It's rocky and not very fun to swim in anyway. And you can walk up and down the shore, but only as far as I can see you, like always, and you come back if I call you. Does that make sense?"

After they nodded, he pulled out his father's tackle box and withdrew the box with the rubbery bait. "All right, everyone can pick what they want to put on the hook."

"We're not using real worms?" Mort said, disappointed, but he picked a neon-green glittery one.

"Or little minnows?" Lucas added.

"Not this time."

"It feels funny," Bruce said.

"It's slippery and stretchy!" Tony said, demonstrating the second trait.

"The fish is really going to eat this?" Frankie asked.

"Fish are stupid," Anita answered before Phil could.

"Jarvis isn't stupid," Tony protested.

"Fish are stupid if they bite hooks," she said. "And then we eat them."

Phil smiled and handed out the reels. (He'd found [and bought] some of those cheap kid cartoony ones, the My First Fishing Pool type things. [His had been a blue Donald Duck one, which had still been in the garage.]) "Do you three need help putting the bait on?" he asked Lucas, Mort, and Anita. "Remember, the hooks are sharp."

Anita had him bait hers, while the other two were already at it.

"The best way to bait a hook so you'll catch a fish is to hide the hook. Here." He took Tony's hook and very carefully slid the orange rubbery bait on, and then showed the kids. "See, the fish won't see the hook. But you still got to be careful, because it's sharp.

"And I'm going to be a bobber on this," he added, holding out the little ball. "It helps us know when the fish bites and keeps the bait floating." He hooked it on and then carefully handed the rod to Tony. "Does anyone want to try, otherwise I'll do it for you."

Bruce offered his, but Frankie was determined to try himself, and he fumbled with the bobber. Half watching him, Phil attached one to Anita's pole when she asked for one, too.

Next, Phil showed each of them how to cast, more or less. Mort and Lucas were, while not great, decent and enjoyed swinging a bit too much. Anita got hers a fair distance, as did Bruce, while Frankie's flopped soundly in front of him three times until Phil demonstrated again, and eventually Frankie and Tony had lines in the water too.

Once everyone else was situated, Phil got out his own pole and cast his line in the water.

He forgot one thing about fishing: there was a lot of waiting involved.

The four-foot and under crowd didn't have a lot of truck with that.

Within three minutes Phil was besieged by questions of when would they catch something, why hadn't they caught it now, were there even fish in this river.

"You have to be patient."

"This is boring!"

"Do I have to stand the whole time?"

"Phil! His line's getting too close to mine! That's where my fish are!"

"Can we go home?"

He sighed. "You can either reel your line in, or you can prop up your pole and go play, but we are not going back to the house yet." He then showed them what he meant by propping up the pole, and it wasn't too long before Tony and Anita were walking along the rocks and sand. That drew a little crowd when they found some clams and shells, and everyone marveled at the shiny insides.

After about an hour, even Mort and Lucas had propped up their poles and were busy examining the local vegetation and wildlife. However, both Frankie and Bruce stayed by their poles and intently stared at the water.

Phil was starting to feel a little bad for them.

For lunch, Phil planned to set up a small picnic and finally called the two boys away to help and pick what they wanted. They kept twisting to check on the poles.

And then, with everyone away from the poles and trying to determine if Phil had packed anything any one of them wanted to eat, one of the poles jerked, and at first Phil thought he imagined it. And then it did it again, and he ran to the pole before it could slip and go into the river.

"That's my pole!" Bruce exclaimed.

"Come on, you have to reel it in," Phil said, after he was sure this wasn't going to be a huge fish that'd overpower the kid.

Timidly Bruce did so, and was surprised at the jerking, but over the others cheering and with Phil's coaching, he managed to reel a little panfish in.

"Do you want me to take your picture with my phone?" Phil asked as Bruce stared at it with wide eyes. Bruce nodded vigorously and struggled to keep the line steady.

Picture taken, Phil quickly got the fish and, a little awkwardly, got the hook out. (So Dad had always done that part.) Instead of immediately releasing it, he put it in the gallon ice cream bucket filled with water so the rest of the kids could see it.

"Wow! It's so big!"

"And pretty!"

"Are we going to eat it?"

"No! We can't eat it!"

"We caught it, we have to eat it."

"We're going to let it go later," Phil said.

"Can't I put it in my tank with Jarvis?" Tony asked.

"Sorry, the fish lives in the river, it won't like your tank because all its friends are here."

"We should eat it," Lucas said. "That's what you're supposed to do."

"That's what we do," Mort agreed.

Phil was _not_ cleaning a fish, and he wasn't bringing one home for Bruce's mother to clean either. "It's too little for all of us to have a share. We'd need a bigger one."

While the kids marveled, he noticed Frankie glaring daggers. Sensing a problem and wanting to head it off, Phil went to the boy and drew him aside.

"Hey, it's all right if you don't catch a fish," he said.

"It's not fair!"

"Life's not always fair," Phil said gently, "and catching fish is a lot of luck, sometimes. You have to get a really stupid fish, like that one."

"I want to catch a stupid fish!"

"We'll be here a little while longer, maybe you will. But Frankie, this is supposed to be fun, okay? Remember what I said fishing is: enjoying it. Sometimes the best fishing trips are the ones where you don't catch _anything_."

Frankie wasn't very convinced, and he stalked over to his pole. Deciding to give him a little time to cool off and because the fish was distracting the kids, Phil decided to postpone lunch just a little, though he didn't yell if someone started eating. It sort of turned into an open lunch.

Well, at least Frankie would probably have less competition. Bruce seemed content with his one fish, staring at it and touching it until Phil told him to stop it, especially since he was now eating his lunch.

They named the fish Rhodey. (Or Tony did, anyway, and it stuck. He was likely still hoping it could magically come home with them and be friends with Jarvis.)

"Phil?" Bruce called.

"Yeah?" Phil answered, not taking his eyes off the bobber.

"What kind of fish is Rhodey?"

Phil winced. He'd been hoping that exact question wouldn't be asked. How the hell was he supposed to know? He knew what suckers were, what generally made a panfish (it was roundish and could fit in a pan), and what carp were. Everything else was a fish.

"It's a bluegill."

That made Phil turn his head, as did everyone else looked away from the bucket to see a boy standing there with a large greying Labrador carrying a Frisbee and on a leash. "See, it's got blue on it."

The kids all examined the fish again and agreed the boy was right.

"Hi," Phil said, setting his pole down. "I'm Phil."

"Adam. And this is Captain." Adam put his hand on the dog's head.

"I'm Tony, and this is Bruce, and Anita, and Mort, and Lucas, and that's Frankie over there," Tony introduced rapidly. "We're fishing. We caught a fish and his name is Rhodey and your dog can't eat Rhodey."

Adam grinned. "He won't."

"Are your parents around?" Phil asked, because the question was getting hot-wired into him.

The boy nodded and pointed back the way he had presumably come. "We just moved here."

As if called by Phil's _Needs Verification Radar_, an older man came into view and called out a greeting. Phil went over and shook his hand before introducing everyone again.

"How's the fishing?"

"We caught one," Phil shrugged, before casting a glance at Frankie. "Hopefully we'll catch another. Adam says you just moved?"

The man nodded. "Few weeks ago. These all with you?"

Phil felt himself growing defensive. "Yes. So?"

"Nothing of it." The man rubbed his neck awkwardly. "To be honest, I saw you guys walk by earlier and was hoping Adam would be interested in playing with them. It's been rather rough on him. But I kinda thought there'd be, well, more … supervision around."

"Just me," he said levelly. And then, because this was a point, he added, "I watch them five days a week, generally nine to five. Except Tony, he's 24/7."

"I'm not judging you. It just surprised me, is all."

Phil managed a tight smile. "If Adam wants to stay, that's fine. We're kind of having lunch, I know I packed more than we'll need, and we'll probably be here until three."

"You live around here?"

"We're by the big park with the baseball field, tennis courts, and track. It's called Forrest Park."

Adam's father nodded and looked at his son.

"Look, here's my number," Phil sighed, pulling out his wallet and scribbling it on a back sheet of paper –the front had one of Tony's doodles of an … animal of experimental origin – and then pulled out his phone. "What's yours? I'll call if something comes up, you call if something happens on your end."

When there was no immediate answer, Phil looked up to see the man grinning at him, like he had done something … either very funny or very … something.

"What?"

"You're a very go-getter young man, aren't you, Phil. Don't sound like you put up with a lot of nonsense."

"I watch six kids, so I put up with a lot."

The man rattled off his phone number, and then Phil asked his standard questions about allergies and health concerns and whatnot. And then, because what the hell, it was already out and in his hand, he programmed Adam's address into his phone, just in case the boy forgot it. (Tony still forgot their address, or at least confused the numbers.)

Adam seemed a little worried about being left behind, but calmed when the dog also stayed, once it was clear the dog was very tolerant and wouldn't turn Cujo on them. (Not that Phil would entirely blame the dog, if he had to tell Tony one more time ….) The lab just collapsed into the shade and dropped the Frisbee, looking kind of hopeful someone would try to take it.

Phil offered to let Adam try one of the pools that had long been abandoned – and Frankie's glare and not-very subtle moving a little more down the river for space spoke his opinion on more competition – but, even though he looked interested, Adam was talked into playing games and splashing into the water.

All except Frankie and Phil abandoned even the pretense of fishing after lunch – he'd had to _force_ Frankie to set the pole down and eat a sandwich – amusing themselves with games and, Phil learned, trying to see exactly what the inside of a clam looked like. (The answer was, _ewww_, and he'd had to throw what they had opened and examined into the river before the dog could eat it. Or, possibly one of the idiots dared each other [Tony] to eat it, because he had heard Mort say people ate calms all the time, he saw it on TV.)

And then Phil took the Frisbee away because, after tossing it around for a little while between them and getting the dog riled up, they started throwing into the river. And Captain, being a Labrador, had no qualms about going after it. Frankie yelled murder about scaring away the fish.

And there were the stupid frogs. They'd been catching them all morning and Phil had had deal with dares for someone to kiss one, the things getting shoved into various faces, _trying to put them in the cooler_, wanting to take them home, competition about who caught the biggest one, an accidental death, and more begging to take them home. (He really prayed none of them would get the idea to see what a frog's tongue looked like.)

One of the little shits put it on his shoulder when he was busy cleaning up their lunch, and … well, it had _startled _him and he might have yelled a little higher than normal or jumped a bit. That was no reason for all of them to screech with laughter and roll on the ground for a good five minutes. And then reenact (and exaggerate, he was sure,) his reaction for even longer.

While all the other kids played, Frankie stayed next to his pole, and Phil sort of wished Bruce hadn't caught that fish, or maybe if Frankie had instead. Bruce would have been disappointed, but he would have been like the other kids and just did something else. Frankie didn't have the same inclination, and Phil was glad he only put fishing on the calendar once.

Sitting on the ground next to his pole, Phil was in the middle of uploading today's batch of photos onto Tony's Facebook account – all of the kids loved getting their pictures taken, often demanding it, and Phil just did it so they shut up and mass uploaded everything afterwards, so Tony's photos had a lot of weird things, sometimes – when Frankie's excited squeal caught his attention.

"Phil! Your bobby!" he almost whispered.

Phil turned to see, that yeah, something was on it, and he squashed his first instinct. "Could you get it for me, Frankie?"

Frankie's eyes were wide. "But it's your pole!"

"But I can't, because I got to do this first, and the fish might get away."

He needed no other encouragement, dropping his pole and getting Phil's larger one, reeling in like crazy until Phil told him to slow down and then helped him. By now, the other kids had noticed and were rushing over, and then there was another little panfish – Adam said it was a crappie, which Phil very nearly scolded him for saying until he noticed the boy was earnest – and more pictures were taken, Frankie looking very proud.

"Mine's bigger than Rhodey," he informed when both fish were in the bucket. (Very crowded, Phil noticed as he dutifully documented the day's haul with his phone. It was a good thing they were being let go soon, because the splashing drew Captain's attention and the dog _stared_ down into the bucket. Up until then, Phil had a feeling he hadn't known there was a fish in the bucket.)

"But still not big enough to eat," Phil interjected. He'd already been forced to bring one fish home this summer.

There were some sounds of disappointment, and even more when Phil told them to start cleaning up.

They said good-bye to Rhodey and Howie before heading towards Adam's house first. (It was only because it was in the same direction they were going, otherwise Phil would have called Adam's father.)

Tony tugged on Phil's free hand. "Phil, can I ask Adam to be an Avenger? He doesn't have _any_ friends and this way he'll have us."

Phil smiled and ruffled Tony's hair. "I guess the team does need a Captain America, huh?"

Eyes brightening, as if he hadn't yet made the connection, Tony nodded. "Yeah, that's right. Cause he's got a shield and a Captain. And then he can come over too."

"That's up to his parents," Phil warned. Tony treated his words like a pesky fly. "But it's okay with me, as long as you all stay good. I can only keep watching you guys so long as you listen to me."

"We're Avengers, we always listen to you, Phil."

"Right. Well, go ask Adam, and then you can ask his father." Because Phil was _not_ asking for another kid to watch. He would, yes, especially since today hadn't turned into a nightmare and Adam seemed like an okay kid – not as wild as Tony or as belligerent as Mort and Lucas, but not as quiet as Bruce or stubborn as Frankie, and something like Anita, tolerant but hopefully less like to drop in a different language to annoy the others (she was getting better at that, especially since Phil knew exactly what she was saying, but she did switch languages more when she was tired) – but he saw no reason in volunteering.

Tony grinned and went to Adam's side, outlining his idea, and the others quickly supported it. (Phil was never quite sure if they _liked_ playing Avengers or merely tolerated it for Tony's sake, but all he really cared about was that they did it without complaining.) Adam blinked at the offers and pleas to come over too, nervous but then grinning very like his father had.

They made it to Adam's house and the bathroom was quickly visited by everyone who hadn't wanted to use the little park's one stall that smelled really bad. (Phil also accepted the offer.)

While the kids played, Phil spoke with Adam's father after Tony had made his very impassioned plea.

"You think you can even handle another kid?" he asked seriously.

Phil shrugged. "Some days I don't think I can handle Tony, and I'm allowed to sit on him to make him listen to me."

"I'm not calling into question your abilities, Phil, but seven kids, that's a lot for someone your age. Hell, for anyone's age. I know, I teach."

"You're a teacher?"

"Yeah, got a job at Lakefield. Their math teacher retired."

"Mrs. Sawall? I went there, Tony does," Phil explained at the man's surprise.

"Nice to know. Adam will be starting there in the fall. Different grades, though." Adam was Mort and Lucas' age.

"I'm pretty sure _everyone_ in the school knows who Tony is and had been forced to amuse him at least once. Tony's first year was a little rough for fitting in," Phil said.

"He's doing better now."

Phil laughed and rolled his eyes. "Because he formed the Avengers. He even calls Mr. Young, Nick Fury."

Adam's father laughed. "Well, whatever helps him."

(Thinking about school, which was just next month, Phil wondered how Tony's little group would turn out. Everyone except Adam went to different schools, and Adam was two grades ahead. Likely he would make friends in his own class, and then what happened to Tony? It wasn't like Phil was going to be able or need to watch them after school.)

They sat in conversation for about ten more minutes until Phil said they had to go, and Adam's father offered them a ride. And because Phil wasn't an idiot, he took it, and they all crammed into the minivan for the five minute drive. It was easy to point out their house, with its driveway all chalked up. Before Adam and his father left, Phil gave them a copy of the events' calendar.

It was actually pretty calm once they were inside, the kids collapsing in front of the TV. Phil, after putting everything away, spent the time printing out pictures of Bruce and Frankie holding their fish. When the pictures were in their full glossy finish glory, he checked the kids, and Phil smiled. All in all, actual fish-catching aside, the day went better than he had ever dreamed.

They were all zonked out.

He turned off the TV and messed around on the computer until the parents came and took everyone home. And then he too took a nap.


	9. The Avengers

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_In the Avengers, A Lot Of Things Happen That Can't Be Argued: A Team is Formed, the World is Saved. _

_But There are Questions That Need Answers: When Is Next Film and Did Loki Totally Xanatos Gambit Everyone and Is Phil Coulson Really Dead, like Uncle Ben, or Just Really-Dead-Mostly-Dead, like Jason Todd and Bucky Barnes (and Will Hence Come Back Evil)_

Adam joined their little band of misfits; the only thing his father said was that he spoke to Mr. Young.

Great, Nick Fury told the man it was okay for Phil to babysit the Avengers, Phil thought sarcastically. He did not appreciate the irony of anything in that statement.

But whatever, Tony was happy, the other kids were happy, Phil was getting paid, so he was happy (and exhausted).

The addition of Adam was about as taxing as Phil had figured it'd be, which was to say, not very much. If he had been like the set of non-twin brothers, Phil might have had a problem, but Adam listened and only joined in the mischief the others started and helped dragging along the less willing.

The calendar of activities was followed and when they went to the park, the Avengers had to deal with a lot of mind control where half the team was the bad guy, which really wasn't too difficult from the comics, Phil supposed. (He had drawn Tony aside when Lucas had been dubbed Loki and said it wasn't fair to always make him the bad guy. Tony had looked at him like he was being silly and said, "Loki's not a bad guy, Phil. He just," Tony waved his hands vaguely, trying to put his thoughts into words, "he just makes a good bad guy cause he can do _anything_ cause he's magic. You gotta have a good bad guy, Phil.")

Tony lost his first tooth as a casualty from one of these battles – and Phil made sure it was the only one, because those kids had some very strange ideas – and Phil was charged with keeping it safe for the tooth fairy. Once their parents were home, Tony had then done a lot of smiling and asking their parents if they noticed anything different about him, and Phil only paid attention long enough to make sure they did notice.

(One of his worst memories was when Santa _forgot to visit his house_. Even though he had been very, very young, so young most people didn't recall anything from that age, Phil could still remember getting up earlier than early and excited and then being absolutely devastated at the empty tree. He'd run to his parents room, sobbing, and woke both of them from a dead sleep and was absolutely inconsolable. His parents had rushed to try to take him to breakfast somewhere that was opened on early Christmas, his father trying to say something about elves being out-sourced and his mother saying Santa must have accidentally broken one of the toys and had to rush back to the North Pole and Phil had just woken too early. By the time they got back, [Phil couldn't recall if they even went anywhere or just drove around looking,] Santa had visited, at least, but for years afterwards Phil hadn't trusted him, the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny to have arrived by the time he woke up. He probably was the only child in the world who made a point to sleep late on those particular days, at least until Tony came.)

His parents had noticed, after pretending they hadn't for a little while. Their mother got out a little bracelet case for him to put it in, so it wouldn't get lost under the pillow.

The next morning, when Phil got back from his route, both his parents were still around, which was odd and he didn't like it. It ruined his morning and his routine.

"How long has Tony had that aquarium?" his mother asked.

Phil felt his eyes narrow. Seriously, this was why they were bothering him? He brushed past them to look into the refrigerator. "I don't know, almost two months?" No, not that long, but he was not dealing with this.

"Why does he even have it?" his father took over.

"Because he has a stupid fish named Jarvis. Because he _won_ it in a game they had at the park," he added. There was no food in here, and he slammed the door closed.

"He never told us he won a fish."

Actually, Tony had incessantly said he had a fish named Jarvis in his room, did they want to see. (If Phil felt charitable, he could understand. Tony had also, in the past, said he had a spaceship and a donkey in there too, not to mention the rest of the zoo. [He didn't feel charitable.]) Phil shrugged and his gaze fell on the calendar. Library, unless it rained, which it was starting to. So, pizza today, and stuck in the house. Oh, joy of joys.

"Look, it's not a big deal. It's just a stupid fish," Phil said. They way they were acting, it was like Tony had tried to keep a puppy.

His father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Philip, that's not the point."

"It's just that we didn't know. That's all."

"That's not my fault," Phil snipped.

"Philip Lindsay."

Phil scowled but didn't press, crossing his arms and looking away.

There was a breath of silence, before his father finally broke it. "Your mother and I were thinking we might spend the last two weeks before school starts going to Disneyland or something, as a family."

Horror was not adequate to describe the look on Phil's face. "You're joking."

"It'd be fun."

"I got work."

"You can get someone to cover your route, Philip," his mother said, "one of your friends."

"No," he repeated, sharper and actually pointed at the calendar. "I've got everything planned out and committed, I can't just take off because you want to spend family time or whatever."

"What are you talking about?"

Phil gave a laugh, a bit sharp. "I've been baby-sitting Tony's friends all fricking summer. Mort and Lucas are going to be here in like forty minutes, and Anita and Frankie are here at nine, and Adam and Bruce'll get dropped off probably a little after that. Seriously, you really _didn't know_ I was doing this?" Yes, he had suspected they were clueless about his life, but to actually have it _verified_ made his stomach twist.

"You never told us," his father responded.

"You never asked," Phil countered, because yeah, like he was ever going to just volunteer anything out at their dinner table, especially baby-sitting. "And jeez, really, Tony's always talking about them and what they did. Did you think he suddenly had six imaginary friends?" (Tony's friends had never been imaginary, only stuffed.) (Again, if charitable, it probably didn't help Tony usually said what the _Avengers_ did first, with code names and everything, and then, by the time any sane person was nodding and making vague noises, turned to what the group had also done. [Phil remained uncharitable as Scrooge pre-Ghosts. There were eight suits almost always drip-drying in the bathroom, and there was a freaking chalk unicorn on the driveway. A chalk unicorn.])

"Philip Lindsay," his father repeated, lower.

He didn't stop this time. "It's not my fault if you don't have any idea what goes on here because both of your are too busy avoiding or fighting each other to pay attention! And you thought going on a family vacation was a good idea?"

And _there_ was his full name and his father stood up. "That's enough of your tone, young man."

Phil glared but backed down, a little.

"Philip," his mother started, and then didn't continue, clearly unsure what to even say. "We'll talk tonight, okay? I think … we need to say some things, but we need to cool down a little first." She grabbed his father's arm and pulled. "Let's go."

For a second Phil thought his father was going to fight it, start another fight, but instead he nodded. "We'll talk. Tonight."

"Whatever," he muttered and watched them go.

"Are you in trouble?" Tony quiet voice came from behind, timid and worried.

Phil turned and tried to smile. "Am I ever in trouble? What did the Tooth Fairy give you?"

Tony held up the little box and opened it to show two dollar coins. (Phil had already known, because he'd checked. _Trust, but verify_ was a good life motto.)

"Wow! You're rich, maybe you should buy everybody pizza today."

He grinned and snapped the box closed protectively, and then asked, "Are you really not in trouble?"

"Don't worry about me. Hey, how about we see if you can stay at Bruce's tonight?"

"Really?" Tony asked, eyes wide.

"Yep. Think it'll be fun?"

"Yeah!"

Phil ruffled his hair. "I'll try to convince his mom, then."

Tony grinned and then turned worried. "You'll feed Jarvis, promise?"

He laughed and picked his brother up. "Yep. And let's feed you, huh? Cause you're all skin and bones," he said, tickling the exposed stomach.

It'd be a lie to say Phil wasn't thinking about tonight's promised talk – whatever that meant or would entail – but he did sort of have doubts that'd it even happen. His parents had promised a lot of things that they never carried out on. But, just in case it did happen, he didn't want Tony around, feeling like it'd just be better if Tony wasn't there to see any fighting that might (probably would) happen.

So he asked Bruce's mother when she dropped her son off. She didn't ask why, likely assuming it was something Tony had requested, and said it'd be fine. She also made mention that she was enrolling Bruce into Lakefield school.

"Really?"

She smiled and nodded. "He asked. Begged, actually. He really likes Tony, and it'll help him so be with kids his own age more. Like coming here has."

"It's a good school," Phil smiled, ducking his head at her compliment. "He'll like it. And thanks for taking Tony for the night."

"I'm sure it'll happen more than once," she laughed and left.

The day was about as challenging as one where they were all trapped together tended to be. It was difficult to engage seven kids for long periods of time and without fights springing up everywhere. For a while not too long ago, it had been the challenge to sneak into Phil's room and go through his things. Even the fear of Phil hadn't been enough to stop the game, and it probably fed it.

It was still a game, but Phil mastered the art of simply _knowing_ when one of the little sneaks was stepping into his room (via a motion sensor in the doorway that sent an alert to his phone, thank you, Mark, and it made the kids think he knew everything).

But, with all the walls closing in and general havoc, the day hadn't been terrible. They'd watched a movie and played Make-It-Up-As-You-Go, which consisted of taking all the pieces from all the board games and somehow making a coherent game on the Clue board (and which Phil thought wasn't very coherent). And they'd had pizza and ice cream, before half the kids staged a coup and had Phil read them a story, and they'd made several forts and had battles between Avengers and Mind-controlled Avengers. (It was difficult to figure out _which_ side was the mind-controlled side.)

Yet eventually everyone left for home, and Phil helped Tony and Bruce pack an overnight bag for Tony. And then he had to nod patiently to Tony's very serious description and then demonstration on how to feed Jarvis, as if Phil hadn't been the one to show him. (Though, to be fair, Phil hadn't said which colors Jarvis liked best, nor where to put the flakes, so there were some differences between the demonstrations. Jarvis would have to suck it up, though, because Phil wasn't color-sorting his breakfast. [There was a period when Tony would only eat green and yellow Fruit Loops. Guess how long Phil had put up with the kind of crap.])

Bruce's mother came and took the two boys away, and, after hugs and reminders to be good and to feed Jarvis respectively, Phil was left alone in an empty house.

Wow. It was … weird.

He made himself a TV dinner and put in a movie that didn't have to tailor to the sensibilities of grade-schoolers. (There were _boobs_. And blood and swearing and explosions and hints at the NC-17 the movie actually shot but decided to scrap to get a lower rating. And boobs.) And then once his TV dinner, he dug out the ice cream and ate from the container, because he totally could now. Not like there was much left worth dirtying up a bowl anyway.

The movie was still going strong when he heard the cars park in the driveway, and, whoa, timing, because his parents never arrived at the same time. This was almost starting to seem serious, and Phil wasn't sure how he felt about it. He ignored them when they entered, focusing on the TV.

"Is Tony in bed already?" his mother asked from the kitchen after they'd puttered around a bit, clearly as eager to start this whatever as Phil was.

"He's staying the night at Bruce's."

"Bruce's."

Phil rolled his eyes. "His friend who lives by the park, his newest and bestest best friend ever." (Phil was pretty sure Tony liked Bruce best of his friends, mostly because Bruce completely followed Tony's lead, and they were always on the same side or team.) And given how much Tony talked about Bruce, his parents had no excuse to not know who the other boy was.

"I know who Bruce is," his mother said a bit testily as she came into the same room as Phil. "I just didn't know he was staying over there."

The TV was clicked off by someone who was not Phil, though he didn't react. "Neither did I," his father commented.

Okay, Phil thought as he crossed his arms and remained staring at the blank screen, he might have seen something like this on TV. Either this was an intervention or he was going to get shot the hell up. Neither option was entirely appeasing, but, Bob, if he had a choice, he'd go with option two. Messier, but it'd be over a hell of a lot quicker.

"Philip, we're not mad, but we would have appreciated being _asked_ if Tony could spend the night at Bruce's," his mother said.

"Why?" Okay, he hadn't meant to say anything, because he knew his rights, and anything he said can and will be used against him in the Court of Parents. But whatever, in for a penny, in for a pound, and he was sick of this shit. "It's not like it matters."

"It matters, Philip, because we're his parents, we're yours," his father said in the same level voice. "You don't get to make those decisions."

Phil dug his fingers into his arms until he felt the bite of his nails to remain still. Don't react, because reacting only made things worse, made it a game. "Well, sorry." But sometimes someone had to make those decisions, and Phil trusted himself a lot more than he trusted other people. And it was just shoving Tony off on Bruce's mom, big deal, not like the outcome wouldn't have been the same anyway if their parents had known.

"We're not mad," his mother repeated, sitting next to him, and Phil had to keep from instinctively moving away. Hello, boundaries, anyone? She leaned forward and Phil saw she set the calendar down. "So, you've been baby-sitting."

He shrugged. No point agreeing when he'd admitted it this morning.

"How's that going?"

"Fine."

"Any problems today?"

Oh, God, could someone just _shoot_ him and get it over with. This was awkward family dinner, and there was nothing to distract them. He should have made Tony stay. "No."

"What did you do today?"

"Nothing."

His mother gave a soft sigh and there had to be silent communication between his parents. (They could do silent?)

"Philip," he father started, sitting in the chair. "Philip, will you look at me when I am talking to you."

Phrased as a question, given as a command. Phil briefly considered treating it as the first, but why make this worse? He took perverse pleasure in the fact that his father did not look as poised as he often did, like he would at any number of meetings at the hospital. (Phil remembered a Take Your Son to Work Day and getting to follow his father into numerous boring meetings, and sitting at a desk with paperwork and a picture of him and Mom, and a lot of people saying he looked just like his father. [Phil hated that comparison now and was only relieved because he was convinced it was a lie people said.])

It was clear his father was trying to gauge his questions, what to ask, how to ask it. "When did you start baby-sitting?"

He'd been baby-sitting Tony since the brat came into existence. But Phil knew how it'd go if he answered that way, so he answered the question that was being asked. "Start of summer."

"And you watch … six other kids, and Tony?" After Phil's short nod, he asked, "That isn't too much for you?"

If it had been, Phil wouldn't still be doing it. There was child-safety to consider, they were his responsibility, and Phil knew his pride had to take second place. If he'd ever had difficulties, he reported it to the parents and said flat out, if this wasn't fixed, they couldn't keep coming here. (Mort and Lucas were big repeat offenders, because they just egged each other on and Phil constantly needed support from the home front, but surprising he'd had to have words with Adam's father when it became clear the other boy had a small but troublesome habit of name-calling. [Phil had a feeling it was how his old friends had treated each other.] With Anita, they'd had to enact a No-Bringing-Toys-With-Her, because she did not share, claiming her things were girl things and they were boys so there, and after a few casual mentions to her father about the language slippage, when she did fall into Spanish, it was with words children could repeat.) So he said, "No." And because he felt this was important, he deigned to add, "They listen to me."

There was a twitch on his father's face. "Have you spent all summer watching them?"

"Not all of them."

His father pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Can you give me the numbers of their parents?"

Phil turned suspicious. "Why?"

"So I can talk to them."

So help him, if his father managed to end this gravy train of easy money, Phil would _not_ be happy, and, for different reasons, neither would Tony. "Why?"

"Philip, I would like the numbers. I just want to talk to them."

"I don't have the numbers on me." Liar, liar, pants on fire, and his eyes shot to his phone sitting on the coffee table without his permission.

His father caught the motion and actually _grabbed_ his phone.

"Hey! That's mine!" Phil protested, outraged at the theft and complete breach of privacy, and almost dove for it, except he felt his mother grab his arm.

"Technically, it's mine, because I pay for it."

"Paul," his mother said in a low, warning tone. "You'll get it back, Philip."

He shook off her grip and looked away. "Whatever. I don't care." Except it was _his_ phone! He had alarms set, and his music, and a schedule on it, and everything. It wasn't his life, Phil could totally do without it, but he didn't actually want to test that theory when he didn't have to. "Are we done?"

"Philip Lindsay—"

"For now," his mother cut in, another warning tone not directed at Phil.

"Good." He jumped from the couch, seriously debated stomping out of the house, going to park, driving to his friends, something, because the urge to get out of this house was strong, but he had a sense he wouldn't even make it to the door, so instead Phil turned and took the stairs two steps at a time.

His parents barely waited until he got to the top before they turned their attention to each other, voices coming up to the second floor like hissing snakes.

If asked, he only went to Tony's room to make sure the stupid fish was still alive. It'd be just his luck it'd decide to go belly-up the one day Tony was away and he'd have to frantically drive to a pet store with a dead fish in a bag so he could get a good look-alike, because Tony would _notice_, and damnit, Phil could lie, but sometimes Tony would pick the wrong times to just know when he was and it'd be drama and tears and he did not need that shit right now.

Jarvis was still alive, swimming aimlessly around – he thought it must really suck to be a pet fish, stuck in ten gallons of water and swimming in endless circles, good thing they only remembered like three seconds or something – and Phil sat down on the bed. And then because he felt stupid checking on a dumb fish for no reason, lifted the lid and carefully dropped down a few flakes (it was just luck, Phil would claim, they were the colors Tony approved of) even though Tony'd fed the fish before he left. Jarvis went after them.

"You are so lucky you don't have to deal with this kind of shit, Jarvis," he muttered. "Why do they care, been doing it all summer. Not like it even matters."

Once Jarvis finished eating, (and then maybe like ten minutes of just watching the fish swim around, because it wasn't like he had anywhere to _go_,) Phil clicked off the light. "Go to bed. I'm not telling _you_ an Avengers story."

It was early, so he just lounged in bed and (because it'd be so wrong, so very wrong to open his window and climb down using the bit of overhang of the porch and jumping down to the ground, and Phil wasn't stupid, he knew he wasn't a gymnast and he'd probably get himself killed and if he actually survived he'd be so dead when his parents found out, but oh, the temptation was there and he really felt he could _do_ it) became immersed in the internet, God's gift to the bored and unhappy and in need of escape. Seriously, the Evil Overlord's List was so right on that count.

Phil considered bitching on his various personal pages, because he needed some serious venting, but he didn't. He never did and would, because the internet was forever and the one time he put something even remotely problematic, there'd be called from relatives who thought they were FBI or CIA or whatever and who'd want to help or just find out what was wrong because they were all gossips. With the way his parents were acting, it wasn't worth the risk.

The internet was a time sink, like it always had been and would, so Phil wasn't sure how long it had been when there was a knock on his door. He debated ignoring it, pretending to be asleep or something, but that never worked. So he made some vague noise that was loud enough to be heard but didn't exactly convey welcome.

Apparently it conveyed too much welcome, because the door opened and he glanced up just long enough to see his mother before turning his attention back to screen.

"I come in peace and bring your phone," she said, sitting on his bed.

The hostage is freed, Phil thought but just made a little noise, because he would not show how happy he was to get it back.

His mother set his phone on the nightstand. She was quiet for a moment, and then tried to look at the screen. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he said, almost without thought immediately turning the laptop away from her. What the hell, she really had no sense of boundaries!

She shot him a look but didn't press, instead simply staring at him.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Can't I look at my son?"

"No."

"When did you get so big?"

Phil had no answer.

"I remember when you were Tony's age like yesterday, and yet, here you are, almost all grown up."

Oh, God, please don't let her start to cry.

But his parents were never very emotional in ways that didn't lead to fighting. "But you're different, both of you. When you were that age, you were much more … quiet. You've always been quiet, Philip, and then you were even quieter when we had to deal with Tony's clamor."

"So?"

His mother shrugged. "So, nothing. It's just a fact from a mother about her sons."

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to computer screen.

"Tell me something, Philip."

She actually waited until Phil looked up at her.

"Do you think we're bad parents?"

His brain froze and tripped. Loaded question, no safe way to answer it. "What?" His mother repeated the question, which didn't help anything. "I dunno, you're fine or whatever," he muttered, shrugging and looking away.

"Are we? Because I'm getting the sense you don't think so." There was a small pause, a small wait for a response, and then a little sound of disappointment. "And you're not denying that, are you."

And why was Phil feeling like shit, guilty and dirty? He hadn't saying anything! Or was that the problem? He wasn't sure, all off-footed, and he still didn't say anything.

His mother looked down at her hands. "Your father and I, we're not perfect, no one is, but we do try. But right now, I'm not sure if we're not trying enough for you or if you just don't trust us anymore, Philip."

Still confused and unsure, the safest and maybe most honest was to just shrug.

She set her hand on his arm. "Whatever you think, you're still a kid, Philip, not even seventeen, and it's not fair for you – or to Tony or even us – if you act as his parent. And I'm not taking about the fish or letting him stay at his friend's, well, not really, but … other things. Like doing the shopping with your own money, working your schedule around his, and watching him all the time, and that's our fault, your father's and mine, for making you even think or believe you had to."

He refused to look at his mother and instead stared unseeing at the screen in front of him.

"I'll let you get back to your nothing," his mother said, and then, seriously, she got up and kissed his forehead, like he was some little kid. "Good night, Philip."

"Night," he parroted back, and once the door was shut, he dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath.

WTF summed it up as eloquently as possible, everything and all the parts – the experience and words and accusations and his feelings.

He closed his laptop and changed into his nightclothes, made sure his phone's alarm was on for tomorrow, and then did a very good job of reliving _everything_ before he didn't fall asleep. And if he did sleep, it was very poorly, and he was up before his alarm, dressed, and literally sneaking out of his own house to go do his job. That he totally did it as slow as he done when he had been eleven, which was hard, because he had a car now instead of a bike, even if one did factor in how much his route had grown.

And Phil wasn't ashamed to admit he was going to totally avoid his parents until the world righted itself properly. Or until he woke up from Wonderland, whichever happened first.

Upon reaching home, the world had not righted itself and Wonderland was really messing with his head.

Why were both his parents home and not on the work, or on the way, or something? He exited his car and checked his phone's clock, because, yeah, this was late even on an I'm-Running-Late day.

It was with the caution of one approaching a bomb that he slipped inside, and at least things weren't so completely topsy-turvy that he didn't hear his parents arguing from the kitchen. He still was wary as he went to the kitchen, his parents _discussing_ something at the table and something cooked on the island.

Hunger dictated he check out the food – breakfast sausages – and Phil cautiously started to eat even as his parents belatedly noticed his arrival.

"Good morning, Philip," his mother greeted.

"Why aren't you at work?"

"Believe it or not, we're allowed to take personal days," his father said dryly.

"Why?"

"It's in our contracts."

Phil glared. Haha, very funny, and his mother was also giving his father a look. "Whatever," he answered, turning to leave. He had about a half an hour before the terrors arrived, and he had to make sure Jarvis was still alive. And then he stopped. "You're not going to be here _all day_, are you?"

"Funny concept, this being our house and all."

"Paul," he mother warned.

His face paled. No, no, no! WTF! How was that even going to look? The babysitter needed his parents around to babysit? Phil withheld a snarl and left the kitchen, rushing up the stairs. Stupid parents, ruining _everything_.

Jarvis still not-dead and now fed – with a little breakfast venting for his enjoyment – Phil paced his room like a caged tiger, glancing repeatedly out the window. There was a chance of rain, and it still looked dreary, which meant even though they were to go to the library, he'd probably have to deal with all the kids saying no, or at least the ones that had the charisma to convince the others they didn't want to go to story time.

Later, he would know his mistake had been to leave the door unguarded, because however good his hearing, the fact was it was easier and quicker to get to the door from downstairs than upstairs, and it meant even rushing down the stairs at the first sound of the doorbell Phil had not been the first to the door.

Phil took a deep breath and forced it out slowly, because one thing he had learned was that he _could not_ show weakness in front of Mort and Lucas. (They once tricked him into eating hot peppers, topping his pizza with it. [He should have been suspicious when they oh-so-kindly got him another piece, smiling sweetly, and everyone was giggling.] It took all of Phil's self-control and a long childhood [and several high school lunches] of doing stupid crap like that to not totally lose his cool. His voice had only been a little hoarse, eyes watered, and face a bit red after he got the pizza down, drank a huge glass of milk, and then took them by the shoulders and very calmly warned them about the dangers of giving foods to people without their knowledge.) So after his father very politely introduced himself to the boys and their mother and they managed to slip away while the adults talked, he merely greeted the two like he did every morning.

"You have parents?" Mort said.

"You're not a pod person?" Lucas added.

"Hilarious."

"Where's Tony?" Lucas asked, looking around, because Tony was always there.

"He'll be here later. He spent the night at Bruce's."

"So it's just _you_?" Mort said, making a face.

"And his parents. Why are your parents here? They've never been here before."

Phil shrugged with forced casualness, but either it wasn't good enough or they were just little monsters.

"You're in trouble!" It was said in stereo, and like it was the most hilarious thing in the known world.

"No, I'm not," Phil said evenly. He hadn't done anything wrong, anyway, which really wasn't the same thing as what the brats were accusing him. His glanced at the doorway, and, jeez, now his mom was there. Phil frowned and glowered. What the hell were they still talking about? He had it to a fine art to say hello-good bye to the kids' parents in three minutes flat.

"Are you in trouble?" Mort repeated, quieter.

Phil snapped his gaze down to the boys. "No."

"We're still going to get to come here, right?"

"I can't see why not." Unless that was _what_ they were discussing. It wasn't fair! "Unless you two do something stupid. Again."

Lucas made a face while Mort absently rubbed his cast, more from it itching than any sting Phil's comment might have had. "I bet your mom will show us all your nakey pictures from when you were a baby."

If she even knew where they were. "And why would you want to see those?"

"Because you don't want us to?" he smiled sweetly.

"Do I look like I care?" Because yeah, what were they going to do with them? It wasn't like they were his classmates or whatever, just little brats trying to get under his skin.

"You're no fun."

He finally managed a smile. "I know."

"Pod person," Lucas accused.

"You have no idea what one of those are."

"Yeah! You!"

Phil kept the smile and, with finely honed practice, managed to get them to find something to amuse themselves, which, without Tony to suggest other things, turned out to be watching some cartoons. A glance at the parents showed them _still_ talking, and Phil didn't dare let his curiosity guide him over to hear, because he didn't care. And they had to stop talking soon, because Mort and Lucas' mother had to get to work.

And _finally_ she did leave, and then it was even worse, because now his parents were turning their attentions to Mort and Lucas (and Phil). At first, the boys felt as comfortable as Phil did, but they quickly warmed up as his parents peppered them with seemingly innocent questions that Phil knew _meant_ something, though he couldn't figure out what.

So he sat in stony silence until the door rang again, and then he leapt up to answer it.

"Phil, we have to listen to this!" Anita said imperiously, holding up the newest Kidz Bop CD in her hands, as soon as the door was opened.

"Anita," her father scolded, while Phil felt his lips twitch.

"So my music isn't good enough?"

"It's okay, but this is _better_," Anita pronounced, while behind her Frankie was gagging. "So we have to listen to it. And dance."

Anita liked to insist they dance to music, while most of the boys never suggested it. They just did it once the music turned on.

"We'll try to listen to it," Phil promised, and was _this_ close to getting Anita's father safely away before the hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hello, I'm Philip's father, Paul."

"George, Anita's father." They shook hands. "It's nice to finally meet you. You must be very proud of your son. Anita and Frankie love coming here."

Normally, Phil rather liked Anita's father. This was not one of those times, and he felt his face heat up as his father agreed. Anita and Frankie were looking up curiously and shyly, ducking behind Anita's father's legs a little, and it really was more for them than him that he shook off his father's hand guided them inside.

Of course, that left his mother open, and Phil was actually forced to do introductions. Anita warmed up quickly to his mother, whom Phil sometimes thought wished she'd had at least one daughter, while Frankie kept a small distance.

"I thought you were the parent," he said.

Phil desperately hoped his parents weren't listening, because while it seemed like they were engaged with Anita and her father respectively, sometimes one could never really tell. "What?"

"Like on Lilo and Stitch," Frankie explained.

He honestly had no idea how Frankie got the impression or what the hell Tony could have ever said to _give_ that impression.

"We just thought he was a pod person," Mort said, turning around from the couch to look over the edge.

"A really boring one," Lucas added.

"Tony and I have parents," Phil said, glaring at the brats. "They're just … busy, so that's why they were never here before."

"We think Phil's in trouble," Lucas whispered, leaning forward over the edge.

"Sit properly!" he snapped, while Frankie looked between them trying to gauge the words.

Lucas stuck out of his tongue but did slide back down, because Phil rarely tolerated messing around on the furniture. The only exception proved to be the Lava Game – Phil claimed he was from Iceland and hence it was totally okay if he had to walk on lava when, after leaving the room for like five seconds to go to the bathroom, they'd all screamed bloody murder that he was "on the lava, get off, get off, you're on the lava, you're gonna die!" – and even then he did frown at too over-enthusiastic avoidance.

"Where's Tony?" Frankie asked.

"Bruce's. He'll be over later."

"Okay. Do we have to listen to Anita's CD?"

Phil grinned as the other two boys groaned. "I'm sure you'll all like it."

"Girls suck," Mort muttered.

"Boys stink!" Anita yelled back, because _she_ had ears like a bat.

"Anita!" her father scolded, sending a glare from the doorway, while Phil snorted.

"He started it," she protested.

"I don't care. There's no call for that language."

Phil's mother leaned over and whispered something to Anita, which replaced the scowl with a blinding smile. Great, now they were friends.

"You might want to pick your battles a bit better today," Phil said, "and it wasn't nice to say that anyway."

"It's true," Mort said, albeit quieter.

"Even if it is, sometimes some things stay secret. For your own safety."

Lucas supported his brother. "What do you know?"

"Can't tell you, it's a secret. But you'll figure it out, in a few years. If you're smart."

"You're a dork."

Phil shrugged and then turned to the door when he heard another car pull up. Adam, a bit early, he found out when father and son made it to the door. Adam's father introduced themselves easily, and even started a vague conversation about teaching Tony once school started.

"What did you do?" Adam asked, and Phil had to keep from raising his hands in exasperation while the others laughed.

"You're all horrible children," Phil said.

"We know," Mort grinned.

"But we didn't do something bad," Adam added.

"Yet." Because they would. They always did.

Unable to stay longer – thank you, Lord – Anita's father called good-bye to Phil, the smile falling easily until after his father shut the door. There was a silence stand-off until Phil decided to blink and turned his attention to the brats. "Who wants to feed Jarvis? I forgot this morning, and Tony will kill me if he finds out."

What was one lie if it saved so many lives? And it's not like Jarvis was going to complain anyway.

So Phil followed the four of them upstairs, glad to leave the adults behind. He only hoped that once Adam's father left and his parents started arguing, they'd be more circumvent than they ever were when it was just him and Tony. And then he didn't have time for any other thoughts as he had to carefully dole out the correct colored flakes – because they would so tell Tony if Phil decided to ignore that requirement – in small enough quantities that Jarvis wouldn't be overwhelmed but so everyone had a fair bit.

And then, because upstairs was better than downstairs no matter what the cost, Phil actually deigned to let then in his room and touch his stuff. Well, most of his stuff. Anything he'd let Tony touch. That was still a lot.

("Put that down!" "Do I go to your house and jump on your bed?" "I don't know why they're drawn like that." "Don't you dare take those out of the box!" "No! You can't open that!" "Those were alphabetized!" "Don't look at that!" [And it wasn't like there was actual porn lying around or discretely hidden for them to find. It shouldn't have been as stressful as it was.])

So distracted by the chaos he had brought on himself, Tony and Bruce's arrival went largely unheralded until Phil felt a weight bodily attack his side and his name yelled far too close to his ear.

"Did you miss me?"

There was no correct answer to that, and one didn't really need to be said.

"Phil, Mommy and Daddy are here!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he said, pushing the barnacle off.

"Yes, you did," Tony said, before greeting everyone else and then loudly extorting what Bruce and he had done the night before. Then he panicked about Jarvis, and everyone reported that they had fed them, which led to Tony demanding an exact account of their actions. (Thank God Phil had given the correctly colored flakes.) Phil leaned back on his hands and half-listened.

Once Tony had died down, Anita looked seriously at Phil. "Can we listen to my CD now?"

"I guess." He pushed himself off the bed and shepherded the lot of them out of his room and downstairs. Unfortunately, there hadn't been a divine miracle, because his parents were still there. It was with practiced camouflage and the fact Tony was always a willing distraction that Phil could make it to the CD player and put the disc in, modulating the volume to something loud but not too loud. (He could never really trust these CDs designed for kids.)

And then Anita grabbed his hand, but, honestly, Phil expected it. Kids were really predictable. "Dance!" she commanded.

"Magic word, Ms. Hawkins?" he countered, even though he held out his other hand. It was just easier to yield on the small things.

"Hawkins?"

"Sadie." He shook his head. "Never mind, you'll get it when you're older."

Face serious, she took him at his word and nodded. "Please?"

"One song."

She pouted a little, and she'd probably try to coerce him again, but for now it'd be enough. So for now, they danced a little and sang along. The Kidz Bop CDs always had songs Phil was at least vaguely familiar with, so he could give it a good try. (And so could the kids, usually quite loudly.) There really wasn't any laughter, unlike when the other boys had first starting coming. Tony and Bruce were too little to really get shamed by dancing – and Tony wasn't self-conscious anyway – and just took Anita's orders as a fun game. It had been a trade-off: she played their games, they played hers. Fair's fair. Frankie had given them, especially Phil, funny looks, but joined in soon enough. But, of course, Mort and Lucas, the little pests, had had to make a big deal of it, which had been enough for Frankie to join with them and Bruce and Tony to be just a little unsure, though they still took Anita's side. It'd taken quite of bit of work to get them the three boys to realize _dancing_ wasn't bad, pointing out there was a Wii game and reality shows that had contests for dancing, but the brothers still sort of hung back until it was clear the dancing was fun. And now Adam, he would sit back and watch unless he knew the song very well.

Not that Phil himself especially cared for dancing, either, but he had long accepted doing it instead of being nagged. And if he looked like a fool, because really, he did, and he knew he couldn't dance, well, it's not like anyone important was watching him.

Unlike today, and when Phil remembered almost immediately, he forced himself to forget. He wasn't going to be influenced from doing his job. (Damn, his face felt hot and he hoped to death he wasn't blushing, because that wouldn't do. No.)

Phil made it through the first song unscathed and separated from Anita. There was a little pout, but she quickly turned her attention to the others, some a bit more willing. They'd be fine, though, and Phil slipped to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible to cook for lunch. On the windows were spots of rain, which meant they were definitely staying in. Maybe he could convince the brats to watch a movie after lunch. He needed something low stress. Maybe they could even all take naps. (Hey, he could hope, and he would continue to hope.)

After rummaging in the cupboards, Phil decided on tomato soup and grilled cheese, because that rarely went wrong. He was in the middle of putting the cans on the counter when his father said his name, and Phil cautiously peered over the island. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Jeez, did he have to make him a sign? "Making lunch," Phil said slowly, enunciating each word.

"Your mother and I thought we'd order out for everybody. Pizza or Chinese or something."

"Why? I can cook," Phil said, stubbornly refusing the offer, because, no. He wouldn't. It wasn't on the schedule anyway, it'd just spoil the brats, and he could _do_ this by himself. He hadn't needed their help before and he wouldn't need it now.

"We know. We just wanted to help. There's … that's a crowd of them out there."

Wow, he had never noticed that. Phil frowned and didn't answer, instead opening the cans and dumping the soup and then the water into the saucepan. There, now there was no reason to order, because it'd just be a waste of money, because look, food was already cooking.

"Philip," his father said, and Phil turned enough to see him rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. "Would you just talk to me, please."

He didn't answer, just started getting out the little oyster crackers and cheese, because they were in the same room, and if his father said something important, Phil would respond.

"Bad as your mother," his father muttered, and probably not as quiet as he thought. (Phil had long heard he was as bad as whichever parent he wasn't currently annoying, and it always stung, even when he didn't want it to.) Phil heard the sigh and knew his father was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I understand that today was a little … surprising, but being in a snit isn't going to solve anything."

If Phil were in a snit, there would be no doubt. Right now he simply had nothing to say and wasn't going to say anything. He focused on opening the cheese slice packets.

"So you plan to ignore me," his father said several minutes later, as Phil finished the last of the toast for the sandwiches. (There were far too many brats to make proper grilled cheese sandwiches.)

"No," Phil said evenly, though he didn't turn around. "I just have nothing to say."

"In general or just to me?"

He shrugged a shoulder.

"Your mother and I talked." (Phil very much doubted they had _talked_.) "We were discussing seeing a counselor. A family counselor."

Up until that clarification, Phil had had a private amusement of his parents ruining the professional career and sanity of the poor sap, or maybe it becoming something like _The Lockhorns _comic_, _but at the words _family counselor_, he actually turned to his father. "What?"

"We thought it might help."

"To do _what_?"

This time it was his father who shrugged. "Help." Even though it sounded casual, he was staring at Phil intently.

Phil turned back to his sandwiches and forced himself to not react. This was a horrible idea and it was going to end badly, like many ideas his parents had agreed upon. And _why_? Everything was fine, and there was no reason to show some stranger whatever problems they allegedly had.

"You do have to come along," he father preempted.

Having taken that as an unfortunate given, Phil rolled his eyes and scowled. "Yippee," he muttered.

"Our first session is tonight."

"What?" He turned sharply to gape. A little _warning_!

"We were lucky, there was an opening. We'll have to leave right after the last kid is picked up, but we'll make it."

And Phil felt his temper rise at the sound that it was _his_ fault it had to be so late, but he squashed it down. "And _that's_ why you and Mom took off. For this … thing."

"There's nothing wrong with getting help, Philip."

"Does Tony know?" Which was a stupid question to ask for two reasons: obviously not, because otherwise he'd be asking Phil about it as well as telling _everyone_, like it was something super cool to do, and Tony wouldn't even properly care even if he did know.

"We'll tell him later. And hey, perhaps we'll go out for supper afterwards. That'll be fun."

"Loads," Phil responded and didn't bother checking his sarcasm at the door. He did not need this kind of crap.

Phil knew he was saved from a tone-heavy scold when Frankie skidded into the kitchen, because his father and the boy stared at each other, both wary of the other.

"Something the matter, Frankie?" Phil asked, lowering the heat on the stove in case this took _time_.

Frankie gave his father a last look before coming over. "Anita was making me dance silly, and Adam was making kissy faces because he's stupid. And then Anita yelled at me when I told her the words weren't right and said I was stupid." He wasn't so much as tattling as making a vague statement about what brought him here, because Frankie and Anita rarely escalated into actual fights. They were too used to each other, but not so much as Mort and Lucas, to take offense to each other's words without real cause, and Frankie often rushed away from Anita before it happened anyway. (Apparently Anita went through a very vicious phase when she'd been Tony's age, and Frankie had reported several of their classmates still had the scars.) "Whatcha doing?"

"Making lunch."

"What?"

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese."

"I liked grilled cheese." His smile, a little less gappy than when they had first met, showed approval at the choice.

Phil grinned. "Everybody does. Want to help?"

"Can I?"

He hooked the stool with his foot and brought it closer. "Help yourself."

Frankie hopped up and started putting together the sandwich pieces with far more care and seriousness than Phil had, and Phil took the chance to turn his attention to the soup. And it really didn't take too long for Tony to come in, Bruce following like a puppy.

"I want to do that! Phil!"

"Frankie's doing it and he's almost done. You two can set up the table, all right?"

Tony pouted and looked hopefully at where Frankie was working, but he allowed Bruce to tug him to the bottom cupboard where Phil set up an area for their dishes. (He'd moved the old pots and pans to the garage. Never used as they were, he didn't dare risk his mother's wrath by getting rid of them.) Soon it was decided that he really wanted to set the table, anyway, because Phil heard the running commentary Tony, with some help from Bruce, regaled their father with – who got what plate and cup, why they got that one, who had to sit where, etc – and it soon turned more into Bruce doing all the work.

"Phil," Bruce said quietly. Once he had Phil's attention, he said, "We need two more bowls and plates and spoons and cups, please. For your mommy and daddy."

Phil very much considered saying he was going to let them starve, but he wordlessly got down the items Bruce requested. And then because the soup was basically done, he got out the milk and chocolate syrup and put them on the table, poured the milk into the glasses, and then scooped the soup into the bowls. (He made a mental note to stop at the gas station tomorrow after his route and pick up more milk and bread.) Then he tossed the plate of sandwiches in the microwave until the cheese was properly warmed, cut them into triangles, and let Frankie put each on a plate.

"Lunch is ready. Eat now or starve," Phil reported, leaning out of the kitchen for the rest of the kids.

"Philip," his mother scolded, holding Anita's hand.

"He says that _all_ the time," Lucas reported.

"He thinks it's funny," Adam added.

Phil pressed his lips together, watching everyone sit. It always was a tight fit, today even more so, so Phil chose to eat at the island. It at least had the benefit of elbow room and less conversation. And, as always, there was conversation to be had. But, first he helped Bruce with his mediation, checking the boy's levels and making sure everything was given correctly.

"Phil! You didn't cut my crusts off!" Tony complained.

"Or mine!" Lucas added. Phil was pretty sure he only started wanting them cut off to be a little dick, but he still did so without making too much of a fuss.

"Here, I'll do it for you," his mother said.

Well, at least moms had a use, and Phil focused on his food and checking what got updated on his phone and texting a few friends. And he actually got to do it without a mountain load of interruptions, because, who knew, apparently brats were better behaved with parents around. (The little monsters, Phil was going to kill them for all the grief they put him through when it was possible they _could_ sit through an entire meal reasonably properly, they just _wouldn't_.)

The soup was completely finished, and so were the grilled cheese sandwiches. And, as trained – because Phil trained them as much as possible to not make his life even more of a misery – each dropped their dishes into the dishwasher and stood expectantly in front of Phil for their choice of cookie, the stash hidden where no one but Phil knew. (Phil had calmly explained that they didn't _need_ to put their dishes in the washer, but it also meant he didn't _need_ to give them a cookie either.)

Phil topped the washer up with a few more stray dishes from the sink and turned it on.

"So that's probably why I can't remember the last time I've had to load that thing," his father commented, startling Phil. He had nearly managed to forget they were there.

"Lunch was good, honey," his mother said.

Phil shrugged. It was good enough that it got eaten without a huge battle, which was all he really cared about. A glance out the window showed it was still dreary, not raining, but in no way promising not to. He withheld the sigh and left the kitchen to make sure everything was going okay in the main room. Adam and the brothers were going through the channels, looking for cartoons, while Tony, Bruce, Anita, and Frankie were playing with some Avenger toys. (There was no need to say who was playing with which toy, because, in the first, Tony was rather insistent on some things, and, secondly, each had gravitated towards a particular toy anyway.) (Anita had complained bitterly that _she_ didn't have a toy that went with the boys on the team, and it took Phil quite a bit to explain it was because, as a spy, the Black Widow had to be a master of disguise, so she was around, she just didn't look like herself. Or something. It wasn't a good excuse, but Anita believed him; he still felt so sorry for her he went and found a little Black Widow toy so she could join in with the others. [Thank God it hadn't been a Barbie.])

He dropped onto the loveseat and tried to stifle a small yawn. Last night was catching up with him.

"Phil, can we watch a movie? Nothing's on," Mort complained.

"You know the rules if you can't all decide on one," he shrugged.

"Those rules suck," Adam said.

"Only because you always lose," Mort smirked.

The three boys dug through the collection of DVDs, each working to convince the others of what to watch. If there wasn't any agreement, Phil made each of them pick in secret a number between one and one-hundred and put it on a post-in on the DVD, and then he wrote down his own random number, and whoever was closest to his was the winner. It wasn't a bad system, and it was relatively fair, he thought.

This time, there was agreement on _Kung Fu Panda 2_, and it wasn't very long before all of kids were watching. Tony crawled into his lap and actually sort of dozed, while Anita sat at his side and threatened to kick anyone who sat in front of her.

The movie passed in a sort of haze for Phil, who had already seen it about five million times and might have also dozed with Tony. He never would have done it if his parents hadn't been around – and he only did it because they totally ruined last night's sleep – but he also never really fell asleep. It was just, one minute Po was speaking with his father, and then he was suddenly yelling at the ship near the end.

After the movie was over, it was decided now they had to watch the first one, which was fine. By the time that one was over, it always basically time for everyone to go home. And clearly his parents _had _said something to the kids' parents, because he hadn't even texted Anita's father yet and Adam was gone, then Bruce, and then Mort and Lucas. Phil made sure Anita had her CD when she left with Frankie, because nothing was worse than trying to find something one of the kids left behind days later. His parents had a bad habit of _cleaning_ and making it impossible for things to be found by anyone every again.

Once Anita's father's car left the driveway, there was an awkward bit of silence before their father, after glancing at his watch, said, "We might as well leave now."

"Where are we going?" Tony asked, rubbing his eye. Apparently Phil hadn't been the only one last night to sleep poorly.

"We're going to meet someone, honey," their mother said, purse on her shoulder.

"Who?"

"Her name is Dr. Holland."

"Do you work with her, Daddy?" Tony asked as they entered the garage.

"No. We're just going to talk with her. We might do it a few more times."

"Why?"

Phil had an answer to that, but he chose to silently get in the van and wordlessly express how very much he was against this.

The rain had cleared up, leaving everything damp, and it was a silent ride to what was a clinic that was far outside walking distance, stuck in the more business area of the city. Phil studied the front with a critical eye and a quick glance to make sure there was no one around who could recognize him. The last thing he needed was one of his friends knowing his family was seeking therapy. He could just imagine the comments.

The inside was boring, like most waiting areas Phil had graced, and he followed Tony to the little toy area, because the option was staying near their parents as they tried to fill out paperwork.

"These are boring," Tony pronounced, disappointed, though he did start playing with the legos.

"Don't lose your Iron Man," Phil warned. "I'm not coming back to get it and I'm not buying you a new one."

Tony ignored him, and Phil took the toy and stalked over to a chair. He played with it for a few seconds before snagging an old People magazine dated January. Of last year. All waiting rooms were the same.

It would be impossible for Phil to answer if the wait was long or not. However long it was or wasn't, a woman eventually called for them, smiling and shaking hands with his parents. Phil felt Tony against his leg, and then witnessed an uncharacteristic flash of shyness from him when Dr. Holland turned her attention to them.

"Is that your Iron Man, Tony, or is it your brother's?" Dr. Holland asked, bending to be eye level.

"Mine. Phil got him for me, but he's mine. His name is Tony, too. He can fly."

"Wow, that's cool." She straightened and smiled at Phil. "Hello. Do you prefer Philip or Phil?"

Phil shrugged, even though he did prefer Phil. "Doesn't matter."

"It's your name, I would think it does matter."

He felt himself glare at the presumption.

"Philip," his mother sighed, "don't be difficult."

Dr. Holland stepped away from the issue, inviting them into her lair, and Phil felt Tony absently grab his hand. And then, when Phil made a point to take an armchair, Tony crawled up onto his lap without any permission. Phil scowled but didn't push the brat off, because now was not the time to give ammunition.

He only paid nominal attention as Dr. Holland started talking, saying what she did and how she did it and a bunch of stuff that sounded pointless but his parents were eating up. Communication and honesty and listening and no judgment and blah blah blah. Phil didn't buy it, because he wasn't stupid. If at all possible, he was going to pretend he wasn't here.

"So, to start with," Dr. Holland said, pen and a pad of paper in hand, "how about everyone tell us why you think you need to be here. Why don't you start, Paul?"

Phil watched as his father deliberated on what he wanted to say. "We don't communicate very well. To be fair, Claire and I … we've never been the best at it." Gift for understatement, Phil thought. "Sometimes it's like we're strangers."

Dr. Holland nodded supportively. (Phil had rolled his eyes.) "And how about you, Claire?"

"Communicating might be part of it," she said, and Phil knew that tone. She was disagreeing and saying she thought her husband was a moron, but pretending she agreed a little. His father also understood the tone, because he frowned. "But I think Philip is working too hard. He won't let us help him."

And this was his fault. Actually, thinking back on his father's reason, Phil figured both of them were blaming him. Figures. He traced the seams of the armrest, ignoring when Tony looked over his shoulder at him.

"Phil?" he whispered, except Tony never whispered.

"What do you think, Philip? Why do you think you're family should come here?"

Phil looked up briefly. He could be honest, which, yeah, that'd fly well. Whatever Dr. Holland said, _he_ was the one who had to live with these people. Clearly he was going to have to say something, but what would be the safest and something they'd buy? "I think … they forget I'm sixteen and am supposed to get my own life that doesn't involve them."

"What about me?"

He winced at Tony's face, wide panicked eyes. "Them, not you," Phil said quietly. "Parents are different than brothers."

Tony was relieved.

"What about you, Tony?" Dr. Holland interrupted.

He turned his head to look at her. "Huh?"

"Why do you think your family is here? Do you think there are any problems?"

Likely, Dr. Holland was only involving Tony to get him involved so he wouldn't feel left out. Tony wouldn't know if anything was wrong.

Tony appeared to think about it seriously, turning Iron Man around in his hands. "Umm … Mommy and Daddy forget things, but that's okay, cause Phil remembers."

"What do we forget, honey?" their mother asked.

"Stuff," he explained, and Phil rolled his eyes.

Dr. Holland interjected before Tony could be subjected to more of an inquisition. "Why don't you each tell me a little about your family and yourselves."

"Can I go first this time?" Tony asked, leaning forward. "Everyone should have a turn going first cause then it's fair."

Phil was perfectly happy to let Tony go first, because Tony could talk forever, and then Phil wouldn't have to. However, it did seem their parents were a little more leery. It was clear in their faces, but then, Phil noticed with glee, they didn't want to object just yet in front of someone whose job was study them and possibly find more problems.

"I think that's a nice idea," Dr. Holland said with a smile. "Everyone deserves a turn. I'll just ask a few questions about everyone, and you can answer them." Tony nodded seriously. "How old are you?"

"Five, but I'll be six soon. I'm gonna get a birthday party!"

"You are! Wow!"

"Tony …," their father started, because this was clearly the first either he or their mother had heard of it. Phil rolled his eyes, because it was so very boldly marked on his calendar for baby-sitting. It wasn't going to be a real party, just some cake and ice cream.

"I am. We ordered a cake, it has Avengers on it, because we're Avengers, me and my friends. And Phil is Agent Phil, who's not dead."

"And who's coming to your party?"

"Everybody! Bruce and Anita and Mort and Lucas and Frankie and Adam and Phil."

"What about your parents?"

Tony shrugged. "They'll be working, but Phil says we'll probably do stuff that weekend, so that's okay."

"Doesn't that bother you that they won't be there?"

He shrugged again, and Phil honestly didn't think Tony was especially bothered by their absence. "I get a friends party and a family party, and that's two parties."

Dr. Holland nodded. "Where do your parents work?"

"Daddy works at the hospital and Mommy works with a lawyer. And Phil works too. He delivers papers and I get to help him sometimes, but it's really early and I don't want to do it all the time."

"You do a lot with your brother, I see."

Tony beamed while Phil felt himself cringe. Great, now she'd see he really had no life.

"How about you tell me a few things you two do."

"Lots! We go to the park and the library and stuff with all my friends all the time. And we go shopping and swimming in our pool and Phil tells us stories about Avengers and stuff."

Yep, proof he had no life, and Phil hoped he wasn't blushing.

"All right. Do you think it can be Phil's turn now?"

Tony sighed dramatically. "I guess."

Despite himself, Phil's lips quirked, but the humor left when Dr. Holland focused on him. Well, he wasn't volunteering anything.

"You and your brother do quite a bit together, it sounds like."

He shrugged.

"Some people might consider that a burden."

Did she have to say that in front of Tony? He frowned at her and said, "It's not."

"How long have you delivered newspapers?"

"Since I was eleven."

"Do you think you're working too hard?"

Phil tried to understand the questioning, because it didn't seem as straightforward as Tony's. "No. It's easy work, and watching Tony and his friends isn't bad, since everyone mostly gets along and listens to me."

"You're going to be a junior this year."

"Yes."

"Excited?"

He shrugged. "It's school."

"You really don't think you have to be here, do you?"

Phil blinked at the question, surprised at the bluntness. Then he tried to think of how to answer. "Not really."

"You don't think there are problems at home, trouble communicating, something else?"

The hell he was going to say what problems they had. "No. Well, except some people over-reacting," he added, because, really, that _was_ the current problem and he might as well admit it. Solve that and things could go back to the way they were. Phil knew how to navigate that.

"Do you get to spend time with your own friends?"

"Um, yeah?" Not as much as at the start of the summer, but he was working now, and so were the others. And he texted and kept up on Facebook and stuff. Feeling like he had to support his statement, he added, "Last weekend we went to the mall, and sometimes I get to talk with them at the park and stuff." And he wasn't Tony, he wasn't going to list his friends.

Dr. Holland nodded and, thankfully, turned her gaze to their mother. With the scrutiny off him, Phil actively tried to not to pay attention anymore, in between trying to figure out what the doctor was writing. At least, he tried until Tony showed he was getting bored. Then his attention was distracted by keeping the little monster still.

Tony was a good distraction at that, anyway, and time went a little faster. At least, soon enough Dr. Holland was talking again. She said something about wanting them to have conversations about some topics she'd suggest, or something, and Phil worked on speaking the bare minimum and staring at her notepad. And finally – finally – it was finally over. Phil carried Tony out into the waiting area and made him squeal uproaringly when he tipped him upside down.

The fun lasted until they were ordered over to their parents and Dr. Holland, who had been talking about stuff Phil hadn't cared about. It turned out they had a follow-up appointment Monday, which just totally ruined the weekend _and_ the week at the same time, good job guys. But what really made Phil's jaw drop – well, not really, because Phil was very sure people looked about 100 points dumber if they had their mouths just hanging opened – was the fact that _he_ was supposed to come back for his own private session in two days.

WTF? He was the sane one!

"Can I come, too?" Tony asked, eager.

"Not this time," Dr. Holland said kindly. "I want to speak to your brother alone."

"Why?"

Yeah, why, Phil scowled, and glared at his parents for clearly going along with this nonsense. He came to _this_ without putting up a fuss. Maybe that had been his first mistake?

"Your brother was a little quiet. I really didn't get to know him as well as the rest of you."

"Oh." Tony appeared to believe this, but he didn't accept it. "What about me?"

"You were very talkative, Tony."

"No, what about _me_?" he repeated more forcefully, a small undercurrent of worry in his voice.

Phil understood. "Mom or Dad will be around to watch you," he said into Tony's ear, because he really didn't want the adults hearing this. He was sure it was going to fuel _something_, and Phil would have to deal with all the added crap.

Tony would never modulate his voice. "You're sure?"

"Yep."

He seemed willing to accept that answer. "Okay. But you can take my Iron Man with, so then I'm with you, too."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Thanks." Then he looked at their parents. "Can we go now?"

There was his name and the sigh at his manners, tone, whatever, but they made it to the van and left the stupid little clinic, even though Dr. Holland did press an appointment reminder card at him, as if Phil was going to be _allowed_ to forget. Oh, God, he could just imagine the next two days: "helpful" reminders on the hour, texts, notes, comments, everything. Like he was the one with the problem remembering to do something.

They went out, as if their parents were subtly apologizing for doing this to them. Since Phil liked Chinese buffets, he was willing to drop his ire about two notches (out of like a million), and he even muttered a few answers while everyone danced around the whole _We Just Had Therapy and It Was Completely Pointless So __**Why**__ Are We Going Back_. Well, _Phil_ wasn't bringing it up.

So it was just another awkward supper with the family, only the location different and since they were in public, there was less actual fighting. (That was one of the reasons Phil liked eating out. The food was another big draw.) Because two out of the other three were using them, Tony wanted to try chopsticks (again), so there was a long bit of amusement while their father once again tried teaching him. Phil offered no help whatsoever and might have smirked while he ate his own meal. Eventually their mother stepped in and made Tony a pair of cheater chopsticks, (the only way she was ever able to use them,) because she had no sense of fun and a great deal too much pity. Phil clapped (only a little sarcastically) when Tony showed him the piece of chicken being held by a tenacious grip and a prayer.

When they made it home, Phil disappeared upstairs into his room, because Chinese aside, he was still miffed at the whole therapy thing. So he showered and killed some time on the internet before he gave it up for a lost cause and called it an early night. It had been a trying day and a crappy night before, anyway.

He must have fallen asleep, but Phil doubted it had been for long. Tony was sitting on him, weighing a ton, and Phil groaned and pushed him off. "Go a'ay."

Tony bounced, because he always would unless tears would get him something. "I want my story."

"Make Mom or Dad," Phil grunted into his pillow.

"Mom did. She wasn't very good," Tony reported and actually tried to worm under the blankets.

Phil growled half-heartedly. "Get lost, Tony."

Tony ignored the threat and curled next to him, breath smelling of toothpaste. "Did you miss me yesterday?"

"No."

"I missed you."

"Great."

"You didn't miss me at _all_?"

He pried open an eye. "Go to bed, Tones. I'm tired."

"Did you miss me?"

"Fine, a little, are you happy?"

Tony beamed. "I love you, Phil."

"Great, my life's complete." He yawned.

"You love me, right?"

"Tony, only someone who loved you would put up with your crap."

"You swore," he giggled.

His eye closed. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I am. I'm in yours. I want a story."

"Mom told you one."

"Not the right kind. She didn't know any Iron Man or Avengers stories. She read about a duck." The tone explained Tony's stance on that.

"You didn't get one last night, you'll survive not getting one tonight."

"Last night I told Bruce one, just like you!" Tony said proudly. "He really liked it."

His lips quirked despite himself. "That's nice." And idea hit him, and Phil yawned again. "Why don't you tell me a story tonight, kay?"

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Are you sick?"

There was a hand on his forehead, as if Tony could tell. "No. Just tired."

"You're sure?"

"I'm very sure I'm very tired."

"Okay." There was a moment of blessed silence before Tony started telling a rambling story. Phil really didn't pay attention and likely fell back asleep within ten minutes. The next morning, when he remembered what the hell had happened, Phil was not entirely surprised to see Tony had not vacated his bed, but it was annoying dressing and getting ready quietly and with as few lights as possible.

Life returned a little back to normal over the next two days, because at least his parents didn't stay home. The kids were their typical bratty selves, but nothing Phil couldn't handle. The only really annoying thing was what Phil had expected, the stupid reminders about his _appointment_.

At least he won the battle to drive himself. Jeez, he did not need his mother waiting in the waiting room like he was a baby. True, he did have the idea to just _not go_ to the thing, but Phil knew how that'd turn out if he dared. He liked living with some level of autonomy, thank you very much, and it was bad enough deal with his parents _now_ without giving them a reason to not trust him.

Coming back to the clinic alone was somehow worse than the first time, and Phil looked around for … whatever before he dared to approach the doors. (He left the Iron Man figure in the car, because despite Tony's insistence, he _would not_ carry that thing inside like a woobie.) Checking in and waiting was a nightmare, because, seriously, what if his friends saw him? There were windows here, and Phil made a point to pick a seat and slouch out of sight.

He had been busy picking at a loose thread on his shorts when Dr. Holland called his name, and by name, she called him _Phil_. There was a flash of _Run Away_ in his head, (which sounded suspiciously like the krill in _Finding Nemo_, so it was really saying _Swim Away,_ and why did that film have to have been on,) but he repressed it and made the dead man's walk to her.

"How are you doing today?" Dr. Holland asked.

"Fine." Never volunteer.

"That's good."

In the office, Phil took the same seat he had before and, uncomfortable, crossed his arms and slouched.

"It's nice to meet you again," the doctor said, smiling. He shrugged an answer. Sure, it probably was, because she was getting paid to see him. "How's Tony?"

"Fine. Annoying."

"Did he give you his Iron Man toy?"

He blinked in surprise at her even remembering Tony's stupid comment. "It's in the car." His face felt hot with the admission, because what if she thought _he_ wanted it brought along?

But Dr. Holland only nodded. "I'm not sure if your parents said anything, but the reason you're here is that I like to speak with teenagers alone sometimes. It makes it easier for some of them to speak freer."

Phil wasn't sure if he completely believed her, but he shrugged again.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I do think that's the case with you. You're very used to watching what you say."

"Only because Tony repeats everything," he defended. Seriously, the snot was a little snitch of everything Phil never wanted repeated, reported, or recorded. And he didn't care who he told either.

"I know what you mean. I have three younger sisters, and they always only remembered the one thing that would get me into trouble."

He wasn't sure if she was making that up. "So, what? I'm here because you think I'm protecting Tony by not saying stuff?"

She smiled. "Are you? Protecting him?"

"No."

"Why did you think you were coming here today, Phil?" she asked, leaning back.

"Because my parents are idiots?"

"A response I hear quite often. So you don't think there are any problems at home, then."

"They think they are all my fault."

"I hope you don't believe so."

"I don't," he affirmed, rather firmly too.

"So the problems are their fault."

Phil felt himself freeze. "I didn't say that."

"I noticed." She shifted in her seat. "Phil, I'm here to help you and your family. But I need your help too. Your honesty and openness. I promise to not share anything you say with your parents, it'll be completely confidential here."

"Right," he said, sarcastically. "Like whatever I say isn't going to somehow get said in the magic circle family time, and then I get blamed for that too."

"Your family isn't coming here to place blame, Phil."

He scoffed a little and looked away. He knew who he was blaming, and he knew who they were blaming.

"You're allowed to be angry and vent here. I won't mind."

"If I want to vent, I can troll internet boards." He'd done it, a few times, made some anonymous posts and felt better at some of the comments when they took his side.

Dr. Holland gave a small laugh. "Sounds like fun."

"It is." He pulled at the string of his shorts again. "Look, I get it. Parents worry or whatever, but I'm fine and I'm not over-worked or stressed. I deliver newspapers and I babysit Tony and his six friends. It's not hard and the money's good enough. They're just POed because they didn't know and once they get over it, _this_ will go away."

"You're babysitting seven kids your brother's age? And you're not stressed?"

He felt himself smile. "They're good kids, they listen to me."

"Whatever you have, bottle it up and sell it, because you could make a mint," Dr. Holland suggested with a straight face. "And you do, honestly, get time to yourself, for your friends and interests?"

Phil looked up for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Not as much when it was just Tony, but I can still meet everyone when my parents get home to watch Tony. It's just a bit harder, because they work, too, except they give me shit and say I'm not actually working." He rolled his eyes. Like stocking shelves and asking if they wanted fries with that was harder than watching any of the kids. "They're just being idiots, though, because none of them would even dare trying watching Tony for an hour. He's pretty notorious among anyone who's ever watched him. No one really comes back after the second try."

"Does he do it on purpose, do you think?"

There was no need to even think about his answer. "No. They just wanted him to sit in front of a TV so they could sit in front of a computer or whatever. So then he's annoying or just does what stupid kids do when no one's watching them, like turn the tub on and forget to turn it off or make the dishes into Frisbees or other stupid stuff. He thinks it's fun or is funny or something."

"Sounds like a regular Calvin."

"Who?"

Dr. Holland actually blinked at him. "Calvin, from _Calvin & Hobbes_, the comic. Nothing? Before your time, I guess, and now I feel old. But try reading a few, I think you'll like them."

"Right."

She actually frowned at him. "You do not get to knock the greatness that is _Calvin & Hobbes_, Phil. It is the best comic, ever. Hands down, bar none."

"I'm pretty sure you can see people to help you deal with this obsession of yours," he offered.

She laughed at him and leaned her head against her hand. "Trust me, on nothing else if you must, it's a good comic."

"I never argue with crazy people."

"I'm sure you don't. So, tell me, how did your parents not know you were watching seven kids?"

Phil shrugged, the light mood he had been feeling fading away. "They got dropped off after they left and were picked up before they got home."

"But neither you nor Tony said anything? You, I'd believe, but Tony? He's a squealer, I can tell."

"When Tony talks, most people don't listen out of self-preservation."

"Any reason you didn't say anything?"

"Didn't matter."

"Why not? You were getting paid, it was a job."

Phil frowned. "I don't need my parents to tell me when I'm doing a good job. I'm not a little kid."

"It just seems like you were keeping it a secret."

"I wasn't," he said.

"But you still never told them."

"Why should I have?" Phil knew he was sounding like Tony, but he didn't care, because now she was saying it was his fault too.

"Did you think they'd tell you to stop?"

"No. I just didn't think it mattered."

"To you or them?"

"To _anyone_. They wouldn't care, I didn't care, and if they wanted to know, they could have just asked or paid attention or something, but they didn't. They just thought I sat at home all day doing nothing, because yeah, Tony would totally let me do that."

"So would you say your parents aren't involved in your life?"

"I don't want them involved."

"Fair enough. Are they involved in your brother's?"

"Enough, I guess. Tony doesn't care."

"I think he does, but currently his needs are being met by you."

"Huh?"

"I just mean Tony's used to having you around, so as long as you're there, he's happy. The problem, Phil, is what happens when you go to college. I think you have to admit Tony relies a great deal on you and you moving away will be a big strain for him."

"That's two years away," Phil dismissed, even though he started to _think_ about it. Because there was _no way_ he was living at home when he was in college. Possibly no way he was going to be in the same _state_.

"It'll come quicker than you expect. I'm not saying it has to be so Tony won't miss you, because he will miss you, but I think it's important that he get to the point where he can trust your parents to be around like you are for him."

"He's stupid, he already thinks they are," Phil said dismissively.

Dr. Holland tilted her head. "Now, but in two years a person's mind can change," she said.

Phil looked away again, because yeah, that was right. Tony believed in their parents listened now, but eventually he'd wise up. Phil had been lucky because he'd had Grandpa Tony, who went to all the games and plays and stuff. But it wouldn't be fair to tell Tony their parents would do stuff when Phil knew they wouldn't. "What are you even trying to do?"

"Help your family."

"Do _what_? Communicate or trust or get along or what?"

"All the above would be nice."

"Yeah, you'll get that done in twenty sessions," Phil said sarcastically, because one thing he had paid attention to was how long this crap was supposed to last. Goal-orientated therapy, his ass. A good patch job, more like it.

"We'll take as long as we need to, but, like I said, Phil, I need help. So, tell me, what do you think needs fixing? And don't tell me nothing, because you've been screaming since I first saw you that something is bothering you."

"Have not."

"Metaphorically." The doctor leaned forward and Phil really hoped she wasn't going to touch him or something, because Phil seriously considered screaming _Bad Touch_ if she did. Thankfully, she didn't. "You can trust _me_, Phil, all right. So just take your time and tell me something, anything. It doesn't even have to be about your family right now."

"Isn't the counter-productive?"

"Wise man say: It's not the destination, it's the journey."

"Right." He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. "I don't want to talk."

"I could turn on the radio."

"Yeah, my parents will love that." He could imagine the conversation, about wasting their money and being stubborn and difficult.

"Completely confidential, Phil," Dr. Holland reminded impishly. "But bear in mind, I pick the station, and I listen to a lot of 70s and 80s music."

"You haven't had bad music unless you've ridden with my friend Mark's Dad. It's not even the music, it's the singing."

"I can't promise I won't sing," she laughed even as she got up and clicked something on her computer, and then music was playing. Not very loud, but loud enough to drown out the silence. And Dr. Holland let him just sit and listen through four songs and several ads.

He wasn't even sure why he spoke next, but he did. "My parents fight. A lot," he said quietly, digging his thumbnail into the seam of the chair.

"A lot of parents fight."

"Not every day. Every single day. About every single fucking thing." Then he winced. "Sorry."

"It's all right. These walls have heard worse." There was a length of a song that played. "So they fight a lot."

Phil nodded, still focused on the seam. "Even when they were here last time, they were fighting. They were just trying to make a good impression."

"Do they fight in front of you and Tony?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. Nothing bad, not like they throw stuff or anything, they're not going to kill each other and they're not going to, you know, actually hit each other, or Tony or me. They just fight, argue, whatever. They don't like each other very much and then they avoid each other until something happens. They blame each other when something goes wrong. They just … fight," he repeated, closing his eyes.

"Thank you for telling me, Phil."

He didn't want to admit he couldn't talk anymore because he felt sick, like he had committed a breach of trust or maybe swallowed poison or just got the flu, so Phil traced the seam and listened to the music. Dr. Holland let him and might have even let him leave ten minutes early, Phil wasn't sure.

Not in the mood to go home and get drilled about what happened – because, yeah, it was going to be so confidential, he just knew it – he drove around aimlessly. No point getting home too early, anyway. He went to the park hoping maybe one of his friends were around – no such luck, but he did wave to Bruce's dad while he was mowing the lawn – and after a long lap the of park, he walked to the ice cream parlor and ended up picking at his melting two scoops.

"No Tony today?"

Phil jerked and looked up stupidly at Mr. Young. "Do you just eat ice cream?" And then Phil desperately wished to take the question back.

Mr. Young just laughed and waved a hand down at a little girl next to him, who was shyly peeking out at Phil. "Me and Mary are trying."

He hadn't known Mr. Young had a daughter, or a wife, or, you know, a _life_. Phil was still pretty determined to pretend he didn't, even if all evidence pointed to the contrary. There was enough wrong in his life without adding more. "Hi, Mary, I'm Phil. It's nice to meet you."

"Hi," she whispered, ducking her head against Mr. Young's leg.

"Tony's at home. I had, um, an appointment." He looked back down at the ice cream and forced himself to eat.

"Please tell me you're not undoing a dentist's hard work."

Phil snorted a laugh. "No, Mr. Young."

"Well, we'll let you eat. I just saw you and figured if anyone could tell Mary school was perfectly safe, it'd be Tony. She starts this fall."

"Trust me, it's safe. Your dad only sends kids to the dungeon every third Tuesday," Phil winked.

"Uncle," Mary corrected shyly.

"Huh?"

"Uncle. Her father got deployed, so she's staying with us for the time being," Mr. Young explained.

And now Phil left like a complete idiot again, even more so. "Oh. Uh, sorry."

"Honest mistake. Well, come on, Mary, let's go see a gal about some ice cream."

For lack of anything better to do, Phil watched them make their order, and then, rather stupidly, let them sit at his table. Now it was stupid and awkward.

"What flavor do you got?" Mary asked.

Phil looked down at his bowl. "Melted."

She giggled. "I like mint and sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles." Yeah, Phil could tell.

"You can never have too many sprinkles," Mr. Young agreed, for a man who didn't have a single piece in his bowl.

"My brother likes the blue and red and yellow one," Phil said as Mary attacked her bowl. "It's called _Superman_."

Mary nodded and focused on her ice cream.

"Ready for school to start?" Mr. Young asked, because he was a principal and it was probably programmed into him.

So Phil lied. "Yep. Can't wait."

Mr. Young grinned at him. "Tony excited?"

"When he remembers, because Bruce is going to be in his class now. And Adam will be a few grades ahead."

"That's good for him, then."

There was some quiet as everyone ate, and Phil glanced at his phone. Honestly, he was waiting for the call that asked where the hell he was, and he knew he should get home. "I have to get home before they send out search parties. But if you really want Mary to meet Tony – and I advise running away fast, because he's absolutely too friendly," he said to Mary, smiling, and she smiled back, "we'll be at the park tomorrow unless it rains." Because he damn-well knew the schedule he created.

"We'll think about it," Mr. Young said.

So he went home and Tony dive-bombed him as if he had been gone for years. And of course his parents tried questioning him, and maybe he was a little snide when he reminded them about doctor-patient confidentiality. And then when they asked what took him so long to get home, he honestly reported he had talked with Mr. Young and his niece and if they didn't believe him they could totally call the man up. (Phil hoped, if they did, Mr. Young wouldn't divulge they met at the ice cream parlor.) Tony was much more interested in learning about Mary and the possibility of meeting her, of her being _younger_ than him, and being able to tell her all about school. Phil was kind of hoping Mary did come to the park tomorrow, even if it meant being forced to talk to Mr. Young, because otherwise Tony was going to be miserable, and then he'd make Phil miserable, which just should be avoided, in Phil's opinion.

It turned out life was sort of going his way, because his parents backed off and the next day Mary was there at the park. (Okay, it was debatable if that meant life was going his way, but after Tony regaled Mary with the greatest of school – OMG, seriously, what a little _liar_, but, then again, Mr. Young was present, so it wasn't like Tony had a choice _but_ to lie – the girl fit into the group without too much trouble.) Anita liked there being another girl, even if she was younger. The only really difficult part was when – and Phil should have suspected something when Tony had asked about the girl character who talked to Director Fury – Tony called her Maria, and Mary insisted her name was Mary, and there was _drama_ (and the threats of fists, and Phil wasn't sure how to take that Tony could get beat up by a girl younger than him) until Phil explained, and Mary was only a little appeased. Mr. Young was mostly amused, which concerned Phil, since the man was the principal and one of his students threatened bodily harm on another student. Clearly there was familial favoritism going on, and that was wrong.

Phil wasn't going to have to watch Mary for the rest of the summer, which he was fine with. Honestly, he was getting to the point he wasn't sure he could handle any more brats and was slightly relieved the end of summer was within sight. Not that he'd ever admit it, especially not to his parents. The weekend was a nice, relaxing time, even if his parents decided to try to _hang out_ with him. Actually, it was a little like Hell.

He might have been a little nervous going to the clinic on Monday, because he had no idea what Dr. Holland was going to do or say or anything. But Monday came and at the clinic Dr. Holland didn't tell his parents what he had said or even what really happened when they had met, and his parents had not-so-subtly tried to ask. There was a bunch of _how have you been_ type questions and about the only thing that happened is that Dr. Holland sort of seemed to be checking to see if Phil had told the truth about his parents always fighting. (Yeah, there shouldn't and wouldn't be any more questioning that, he noted.)

Phil was pretty sure no progress had been made, unless it was some really weird backwards progress, and the only thing really annoying was that Dr. Holland gave them homework. Tony's was a big secret – Phil would get it out of him later – and his parents had to read these cards or something to each other, but Phil was supposed to voluntarily tell his parents something he didn't think they knew about him each day. (Yeah, he wasn't too keen on that.) Dr. Holland made a point to tell him that it didn't have to be any big secret, maybe just something like he liked wearing Pokka dots, and the only way his parents were supposed to respond was by thanking him for telling them. They weren't even supposed to tell him if they already knew whatever it was he said.

He consoled himself by saying at least it wasn't hard, except he was pretty sure it was going to be. What the hell was he supposed to tell them? No, strike that, what the hell did he want to tell them? He'd have to make a list tonight.

They didn't go out afterwards, and as quickly as possible, Phil started on the list of stupid things he would tell his parents. It wasn't too long before Tony barged in and bounced on his bed.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Can't you knock?" Phil asked peevishly. This was hard.

"Did you buy me a birthday present yet?"

"Nope. I didn't think you needed one."

"I do," Tony said seriously.

"What did Dr. Holland tell you?"

"Nah uh, can't tell you. I promised."

"Why not? I won't tell her."

Tony grinned. "You're being stupid, Phil."

"I'll hang you out the house if you don't tell me," he threatened.

"Nah uh."

"How about a hint?"

"Nope!" He laughed and rolled on the bed. "Where's my present?"

"I don't get little snots presents," Phil sniffed.

Tony pouted. "You're being mean, Phil."

"Yep. So get lost."

He kept pouting and eventually pulled out all Phil's pillows to make a fort, which was when Phil bodily picked him up and tossed the pest out of his room. Tony was frankly lucky he hadn't been tossed out the window.

It wasn't the last time Phil expressed that sentiment, because, yeah, Tony was eager for his birthday party and knowing what he gift was. He even dug around Phil's room trying to find it, and Phil very nearly committed fratricide when he saw what Tony had done. Even the rest of the kids gave him a wide berth that day.

The day of Tony's birthday, Tony literally jumped onto Phil and a very sensitive area, waking him from a dead sleep. Once Phil could breathe and think, he glared at the monster. "Why are you even up?"

"It's my birthday!"

"No!"

"Yes! Present!"

"You haven't been born yet," Phil growled, curling back under the blankets. He had at least forty minutes before he had to get up. "You weren't born until two. In the afternoon," he added.

"Phil!"

"Let me sleep or I'm cancelling your party."

Tony gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"I won't pick up your cake either."

"Phil," the birthday-brat whimpered. "Please."

He refused to budge. "No. Let me sleep."

Tony sighed dramatically and flounced next to him, and occasionally poked him, but Phil could doze through that. And when his phone alarm went off, Tony was up like a piece of toast, grinning. "Present!"

Phil scowled at him. "Birthday spankings!" And then he made to grab the brat.

That got the little monster to screech out, likely to wake the rest of the victims. Phil staggered around and managed to get dressed, smirking at hearing Tony disrupting their parents' sleep. And he was out the door before Tony could beg for his present some more.

After the last paper was delivered, he dropped by the bakery and got the stupid cake. Phil had to admit it looked delicious, and when he got home, Tony was bouncing all around trying to see it, as if he hadn't been the one to pick it out.

"Don't you like my cake, Daddy?" Tony asked once Phil put the cake on the island.

Phil felt their father more than saw him, and he moved away from the looming. His father didn't notice his retreat, staring down at the cake. "It's very nice, Tony. Did you pick it out?"

"Yep. Well, Phil helped, but only a little."

"That was nice of him." Their father straightened, as if waiting for something. "Well, I have to get to work. See you two later. Happy birthday, Tony." He ruffled the younger's hair and accurately read Phil's look that said, _Try it and I will remove your hand_.

"Bye, Daddy!"

Phil breathed a little easier once the door closed. "So, you get lost, I'm going to set up your stuff."

"My present?"

"Is my unending tolerance for you," Phil deadpanned.

"Phil," Tony whined.

Phil smirked and started putting a few decorations that their parents had bought. Avenger-themed, because Tony had picked it out and he was ever-obsessive. And Tony followed him, telling him exactly where to put everything and fixing it just so even when Phil followed him to the letter.

At least when the others arrived, Tony was distracted, except for the part where he was begging to open each and every present they brought him, and then stared at them stacked neatly in a pile like a man dying of thirst in the desert.

Phil hadn't planned anything special for today. There would just be cake and ice cream for lunch, and presents, which really was enough. So they had fun in the pool and ran around the yard like crazy people, which was normal.

What _wasn't _normal their parents coming home just before lunch.

"Happy birthday, honey," their mother said, hugging Tony as he bounced around, wet as a dog.

"What are you doing here?" Phil asked stupidly.

"We thought we'd join the party, too," his father said. "Tony asked us too."

The brat was not going to see another _day_ when Phil got his hands on him, once the witnesses were all gone.

"Besides, he wanted Mary to come too, and since we wanted to speak with Mr. Young anyway, this was a good time," his mother added.

"Mary? Here?" Why hadn't anyone _told_ him?

"Didn't Tony tell you?"

Phil managed a tight smile and bided his time. He left his parents take care of the food and then greeted Mr. Young and Mary when the door rang, all polite. And then he snatched the little brat.

"Why didn't you tell me you had invited Mom, Dad, and Mary?" he asked, trying to sound pleasant and not like he had Tony cornered where he could gut him like a dog.

"It was a surprise!" Tony grinned.

"Wow, it sure is," Phil agreed, mentally telling himself Tony was an idiot who meant no harm.

Tony looked at him. "Are you mad?"

_Yes_. "Just … surprised."

"I would have asked you, but Dr. Holland asked me to ask Mommy and Daddy for stuff this week."

"She did?"

Tony nodded. "And I wanted Mary to come too, and Mommy and Daddy, so they could be at both my parties, because you were right, we get a family party too. We're gonna go see Grandma Dottie."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Because it was a surprise," he repeated, like he thought Phil was slow.

"I would have liked to have known."

Tony rolled his eyes. "That's not how surprises _work_, Phil. Daddy even said it was going to be a surprise for you and Mommy agreed, that's how I got the idea."

Despite how easily Phil could place blame on his parents, he had an idea they had been making an honest comment and expected him to have known. "You're an idiot," he said instead, and let the brat go.

"Maybe, but it's _my_ birthday," Tony replied and skipped off.

Lunch was awkward, because either Phil could eat with the kids or he could eat with the adults, and both options really sucked. He spent a bit of time in the kitchen weighing the options of the lesser evil. The adults chose to eat out on the patio, and he decided it was too weird and wrong to eat with Mr. Young and his parents at the same time, so he sat with the kids because he really had no life.

"Cake!" Tony proclaimed once he was finished eating, which set off a chorus of agreements.

"Ask Mom and Dad," Phil replied, because _he_ wasn't done eating.

If someone had asked him _why_ he had looked up, he couldn't have answered. He had a feeling, an innate sixth sense, that he should look up, especially since he was noticing the brats were looking up several times and giggling. Or maybe he had felt a drop hit him. After examining the ceiling, he said with a natural blandness that had been fine-tuned after years of dealing with Tony, "Why is there a reasonable facsimile of the Sistine Chapel on the ceiling?" Well, perhaps not reasonable, but there quite a few splashes of color that shouldn't be up there.

There were a few moments of bafflement before Tony, like it was so obvious he couldn't believe Phil hadn't already figured it out, explained, "It was HYDRA."

"I leave the room for _five_ minutes" – it wasn't an exaggeration, in fact it was an over-estimation – "and HYDRA attacks. And paints the ceiling." There was no sound of question in his voice. WTF had they even used?

There was much nodding.

"Can we have the cake now?" Mort asked.

"We got the bad guy," Frankie said proudly and held up a water gun.

"It was a spider," Mary explained.

"A big one," Anita added.

Phil continued to stare up at the ceiling. "Put the water guns on the table."

They complied and then he looked at them, and then back to the ceiling, and then went back to his food. Since he was also great at multi-tasking, Phil as also calculating how long it would take to clean up the latest HYDRA debacle – impossible, and too expensive to repaint, the only hope was to pray no one looked up ever again.

Once he finished eating, Phil gave one last look at the ceiling, gathered up the stack of water guns, and went to the kitchen with a procession behind him. And then he proceeded to cut out small pieces – no need to give any of them _more_ sugar – and ignored all of the instructions and criticism that he was cutting the cake _wrong_.

There was only one viable outcome, and Phil cut himself a huge piece of cake as compensation as he imagined how the conversation could go when their parents came back inside. If there was one thing Tony and he had in common as brothers, it was a plethora of imagination.

"What is in these guns?" he asked.

"Water colors," Anita explained. "It makes the water pretty."

"And so you know who shot you," Lucas added.

"Ah." The adults came in, drawn by the cake. Phil waited until the kids had finished their own pieces and escaped the blast zone before saying, "Our ceiling was attacked by HYDRA."

There was no comprehension, and Phil merely pointed towards the room with the damage. And then he watched while Mr. Young struggled not to laugh and his parents struggled not to kill, or something, and he braced himself for the blame.

"Philip," his father said calmly.

"I was in the kitchen."

"I see."

"Who fired the first shot?" Mr. Young asked and managed to almost keep a straight face.

"I didn't ask. It's water colors, I guess."

"It'll wash off, then."

"Good," his mother said. "Where are those toys?"

"Kitchen. I already took them away."

"Good," she repeated.

"Should I have the Avengers assemble?" Phil asked, making a little joke. At least Mr. Young appreciated it. His parents just gave him an annoyed or exasperated look.

"I haven't even seen that film, and I think I hate it," his father said, shaking his head.

"It's good," Mr. Young protested, in the tone of _How could you not have seen it?_

"It's out on DVD in September," Phil informed him. And then, what the hell, he could share this, because no way they'd know it and it was completely harmless. "It's my fault they're Avengers, you know. Tony might have got everyone together, but I got him interested."

"Thank you, Philip. Thank you so much," his mother said sarcastically.

"You're welcome."

"So you were the inspiration for the Avengers. At least you didn't have to die," Mr. Young grinned, winking.

Phil grinned. "Tony's pretty sure I'm not dead, and he's confirmed it with Jarvis. And at least you didn't get blood on my cards, because I would kill you."


	10. Epilogue

**The Avengers Battle HYDRA at the Playground with Startling Regularity**

**By: **Kim Hoppy

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Avengers, Iron Man, The Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, etc._ and all adjoining characters are the property of Marvel and those associated with their creation and are used without permission or disrespect.

* * *

**Summary**: If asked, of course Tony is going to proclaim that he's reason they're all Avengers, he's the one who started it all. But the truth is, it was all Phil's fault. Most days, he doesn't regret it.

Or ... a story not so much about Avengers, but about two brothers who both like the Avengers film and experience the movies, in their own way.

* * *

_The End and the Beginning Really Are the Same, Just a Little Different_

Phil smiled as he looked around the gymnasium, watching all the kids run around for the games and candy. It was easy to spot his group, a talent created from long habit. They'd done the circuit on the streets begging for candy, and then came here for the additional fun and prizes.

He was still rather impressed Tony had actually convinced basically everyone to dress up as their counterpart. There wasn't any real question that Tony would go as Iron Man and Bruce as the Hulk, the two still thick as thieves. They saw less of the rest of the kids because with school in session, there was no need for Phil to act as a babysitter, but it was to Phil's surprise that the group still got together on the odd weekends or one of the kids – usually Frankie and Anita – might need to get watched in the afternoon. Tony and Bruce still had regular daily contact with Adam and Mary, though the different grades did understandably put a few hiccups in their play. It was to Phil's surprise that Adam at least still deigned to play with the younger kids, and he had to admit he was impressed with the boy. (Tony had mentioned something had happened at school, but then Adam came and it became all right, but he refused to divulge much more and Phil didn't want to push. Clearly, though, in Tony's eyes Adam had deserved to be Captain America.)

To be fair, not _everyone _agreed to dress up as an Avenger. Anita had stood firm on being a ballerina, which was only good because at least Phil could honestly say that connected to the Black Widow a little bit; that appeased Tony, and he convinced her to at least carry a water gun. And Mary had chosen to dress up as a cat, but Tony let that one go, because even he admitted a Hill costume would have been boring and, Phil suspected, because he really didn't know what to do with Mary since he didn't have a good idea what her role in the Avengers was.

He tugged at his tie, because however dapper the suit looked, it was a bit uncomfortable and hot. His mother had eagerly taken him shopping for the suit, trying to make it a _bonding_ thing. Phil wouldn't say their family was any less dysfunctional with the therapy they still attended, but sometimes he did admit things were a little better. There was less fighting, anyway, which helped a lot, and while he didn't relish the idea of either spending time with his parents or talking to them, it wasn't as awful as it had been. If asked, Phil couldn't tell what had changed, not really, but then again, he wasn't inclined to look too deeply. It was enough, for now. At least he wasn't as concerned about going to college and abandoning Tony to the wolves.

"Having fun?" Mr. Young asked.

Phil looked at him and gave an unimpressed look. "Director Fury, really? Tony suckered you into this charade, too?"

"Excuse me, I'm Samuel L. Jackson," Mr. Young responded.

"Ah, I see. Very clever," he said.

"Yes, it is. And congratulations on being alive, by the way."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't keep the smile off. "Like there was every any doubt."

Mr. Young grinned. "And I suppose you heard about the series?"

"Yes, but don't tell Tony." Phil was holding out on telling Tony about the TV series, on the chance it couldn't be watched. (He was hedging his reasoning on the problem being Tony's age and not the quality of the show, being optimistic and a responsible older brother who would make sure it would be appropriate for Tony to watch. Yep, that was the only reason he was keeping on eye out for when it would start being aired.)

The principal agreed to keep mum on the subject, likely because he had a lot of experience in the hazards of prematurely telling little kids something was going to happen. You were then constantly bombarded by them asking "When?" and "You said it was on" and other things when they thought whatever you said meant it was happening immediately.

"Phil, we gotta get our pictures taken!" Tony said, rushing to grab his arm and proceeding to _yank it out of its socket_. Then he thankfully stopped and peered up at Mr. Young. "You can be in it, too. Mary's gonna be in it."

"Well, thanks, that's very nice of you, Tony."

"I'm very nice," Tony agreed and again tried to ruin Phil's pitching arm.

They waited in line, and Phil absently listened to the various chatters and nodded when whomever called for his attention or demanded his approval. Bruce showed him his bag of prizes and Anita again demonstrated her ability to do a graceful pirouette. She didn't fall or hit anyone, so it was close enough to be graceful. (For a time, the boys had teased her by singing that she and Phil were K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree, which, Phil noticed with some annoyance, bothered _him_ more than her. It had stopped because it wasn't as fun to sing the song if Anita actually _liked_ it.)

Finally, they made it to the stage and lined up, almost everyone making a dramatic pose.

"Everybody say, cheese," the photographer said.

"No, we should say, 'Avengers Assemble,'" Adam suggested, which everyone agreed enthusiastically.

It was possible – more than likely – these Avengers would part ways sooner than later, (and the Avengers cycled through members as often as the Justice League,) but Phil had to admit it had been a memorable summer with a good movie that promised sequels (that hopefully wouldn't get Tony so involved). So, he grinned and with the rest said:

"Avengers, Assemble!"

_fin_

* * *

**AN: **As I mentioned before, this turned in to something with a vague plot or something. At the start, I did want the characters to sort of mirror their alleged counterparts, but then that would turn into giving the kids really, really, really rotten childhoods, and I didn't want that. It was enough that I broke Mort's arm, and it'd have been very ... cliché to mirror them too closely. Mary wasn't even planned, but she just jumped in on the last chapter when Mr. Young appeared again.

I hadn't originally planned to mirror the shorts _The Consultant_ and _A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Thor's Hammer_, but then I figured, _why the hell not_, which I think made the story more Phil-centered. On the _Thor _chapter, I was like, _WTF, this shouldn't be this long of a chapter_, and was consoled by pointing out three Avengers characters were introduced in that particular movie, so it made sense. And then in Captain America, I *headdesked** that it took until page 10 of a 15 page chapter to even introduce Adam, our Captain America member.

And honestly, the Avengers chapter really wasn't supposed to be so Phil-heavy. It was intended more as a Tony B-Day party sort of thing, but it turned out that I built up all the family drama and I felt that had to be addressed. It's not actually solved, because it really probably won't be for Phil. He's spent most of his life not trusting his parents. And bear in mind, this is told from Phil's point-of-view, and he's very biased. Yes, his parents fight a lot, but I believe that's just the way they are, and that they had a few rough patches in his younger childhood. (And Santa honestly just had a very busy lead up to Christmas day, what with presents and visits and everything and it just never crossed his mind Phil would wake up at What o'clock, he was very exhausted.) They're trying, and Phil doesn't make it easier by actively avoiding them. It might have been better if he hadn't turned into a responsible teen whom they could trust to go out with friends and watch his brother and get good grades, because as awful as it is, sometimes it's easy to overlook something that doesn't make problems. Learning their eldest was running an underground baby-sitting joint under their very noses turned into a bit of a shock, because, as far as Tony told it, the kids were always meeting at the park or library or somewhere that was not at their home. (And keep in mind the kind of reporter Tony would be.)

Because I'm also a bit weird, I had a running pie chart - because everyone loves pie and their graphs - for this story as I went, just to see how the chapters broke it up.

And because it totally made me laugh, one of MicroSoft's AutoSummarize of this story, though only when it was like half-done:

_"Phil!"_

_"Phil!"_

_"Phil!"_

_"Phil! "Phil! "Tony."_

_"Phil!" "Phil!" "Phil! Phil."_

_Tony?"_

_"Tony!" Phil nodded. "Tony."_

_Phil smiled. "Phil," Tony whimpered._

_"Phil?" "Phil! "Phil?" "Phil_


End file.
